


She'll Take Care of You (When I'm Gone)

by ChaosController



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Developing Relationship, Drowning, Father-Son Relationship, Forest Spirit? Demon? idk, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Spirits, Traditions, it's integral to the story, it's over in the blink of an eye tho, mentioned and talked about but not shown, no explicit death, that end in death, there's an orphaned character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 15:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21079334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosController/pseuds/ChaosController
Summary: "The trees beckoned him deeper, tall birches on each side lacking leaves as the cool autumn wind whistled through their bare branches with hidden malice. It wasn’t to be trifled with, but he wasn’t here to trifle with the wind. He was here for something much greater than the wind; more powerful than any force he knew and willing to help him for a price. He just hoped the price wouldn’t be as steep as his predecessor’s."Be careful who you fall for and who you meet in the woods. You might just run into someone that can change your life. And though you may be wary of them, whoever they may be, you will always have someone to keep you safe.





	She'll Take Care of You (When I'm Gone)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first off; we know barely anyone reads these, you just want the story and to move on but first, hold up. This is not a gorey, revenge filled, supernatural fic. This is a slow fic that has barely any gore and, while not suitable for all audiences, is probably not what you came here for. I know the summary may seem a bit misleading, but it makes more sense after you read it, which you won't if you're not into the slow, non-violent things. You have been warned, this is not a revenge fic, this is not about getting a demon to do your bidding, this is - hopefully - about communicating a story about the supernatural that has only hints of it in the background and more focus on development and friendship above all else. 
> 
> So we'll get this out of the way now: this took so long to write. Like, I started this at the start of this year, like February this year, and here we are in October finally posting it because it took me until September to properly finish this. 
> 
> Right warnings and stuff. I will be using the tags to an extent, but so you are forewarned there will be a major character to the series gone from this story. The death won't be completely dipped into, but just know that if you don't want one of the sides dead, one of them is in this story. Also there is no mention of Deceit just because I couldn't think of a good way to wedge him into the story. Remus was supposed to be a brother figure, but I already had a name added in for the brother figure and didn't feel like changing it. That's all. 
> 
> Another thing; I know some of these paragraphs might be a bit long and hard to read for some people. If there are any paragraphs that are too hard to read, send me a message or a comment to let me know and I'll come back and change it so the paragraphs are shorter throughout, be warned though it might take a day or two for me to get through it all but it will happen. 
> 
> Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes. Criticise me in the comments if you want, but knowing where I went wrong is super helpful for future stories. 
> 
> Okay, that's all, have fun and have a good day/night wherever you are <3

‘I remember when your grandmother let me use this space for a sleepover. Your father was scared out of his mind.’

Logan looked around the attic from the door, hands gripping the last of the wooden rails on the ladder as he watched his father move around the tiny, cramped space. The entire area made Logan scrunch up his nose, dust invading his senses as his eyes lingered on each stacked box for a few seconds before moving on. Patton stood still in the centre of the chaotic piles of boxes, looking around with his hands clasped in front of him, delight and sadness mixed in his eyes as he tried to put on a brave face for his son. 

‘You would not believe the stuff your grandmother used to hoard up here; old greeting cards, my toys from when I was little, the occasional shoebox of photos and,’ Patton turned to Logan with a sly smile and a somewhat dramatic twirl, ‘books.’

It was obvious by Logan’s expression that if he hadn’t been happy before he definitely was now. Brown eyes lighting up with joy as he clambered into the attic and brushed his hands off on his pants while eyeing boxes that he’d once thought contained only useless objects and old sentimentality, now they seemed more like treasure chests waiting for him to open the and find the few things he’d been brought up to adore. Patton extended a hand towards a box, a little sunken in with the weight of the one on top of it, but clearly marked with one word scrawled in capital letters across its side. 

Patton followed the eager child of ten over to the stack of boxes, carefully lifting the solid wooden box on top of the old box of books. Watching as his son searched through each, hands careful with the somewhat worn out books, Patton looked at the box he’d taken from on top of it, fingers running over the lock on it as his smile faded and his fingers ran from the top of the box into his pocket. The copper key he retrieved was near silent as it was sunk into the keyhole, turned with delicate hands as Patton listened to Logan rummage. He swallowed softly as the lid fell open, hands careful not to let it make a noise as he took a good look at the contents of the wooden box. 

‘Dad, can I take these home?’ A voice asked, startling Patton enough to make him lurch back and grasp at his thundering heartbeat. Logan looked at him with a cocked head, a few rather thick and well-worn books held tight to his chest as the child took in his father with curious and concerned eyes. 

Patton slowly rose back to his knees, smiling gently and holding out a hand before Logan placed one of the books in the outstretched palm. The cover was pulling away at the spine, a few loose tendrils of fabric framing the edges of the emerald green cloth. The book didn’t have a title on the front, back or spine, but to his knowledge Patton assumed the book’s title to be inside. Flipping the cover over gently his fingers danced across a sheet of extremely thin paper, pulling it aside to reveal a picture of a female and a name printed at the bottom in a serif font Patton knew well from his mother’s years of attempted writing by typewriter. Knowing the name was one thing, knowing the story was another, and knowing whether the story was suitable for a boy of ten years was yet another thing that weighed Patton’s mind down. Surely the book wouldn’t do any harm too great, so with a nod and a gentle prod at his son’s right arm with the spine of the recently closed book, Patton handed the book back and cemented that Logan could indeed have the books. 

The joy on his face was priceless, a truly wonderful sight after all that had happened over the past few days. ‘Logan, just one thing before you go looking back through those boxes. I want you to take those books down to the car, so you don’t lose them.’ 

Logan nodded once in confirmation and made his way to the ladder, looking around quickly and upending a small box of photos into a pile before placing the books inside. He dropped out of sight down the ladder for a second before a hand reached up to retrieve the box and take it with him. Patton sighed at the sight and the quiet of being alone, turning his attention back to the box before him, a thin layer of currant coloured fabric obscuring his view of what he knew lay underneath. The seam of where the fabric edge met the edge of the box took him less than a second to find, familiar with the layout from when he learned of the box over thirty years ago, back then he was but a few years older than Logan was now, but his mother had kept him separate to her box of secrets and claimed he needed to be older to be ready for such things. Now she was gone, and it was up to him to carry on the family tradition, to keep entering the forest, to keep doing as the book told. The fabric he’d picked up was laid over the side of the box, dusky red cascading down the wooden side as he reached for the second layer of fabric and gently pulled it away. A chill ran down his spine as the final piece was drawn away and a thick, leather bound book was revealed. 

Patton ran his fingers over the grooves in the cover that reminded him of bark and wood grain, thin lines and detailed knots running lengthwise from the top of the cover to the bottom. The spine was missing, in its place two strips of thick leather roughly a centimetre in wide and five centimetres long kept the covers together, two small full circles of brass – alike to the heads of brass tacks – dotted to each end of the leather strips. Patton traced each circle on the front with a feather light touch, fingers finally passing across the thin grooves towards the edge of the cover and slipping underneath the book with a slight tremble. 

A creak warned him Logan had returned, but he was a little lost in his own world and reached his other hand in to grasp the spine of the book, lifting it out and into his lap as he steadied his nerves and knees on the dusty wooden flooring. Knowing what would await him instilled a feeling of tension, a nervous vibrating energy that pulsed rapidly in his core as he moved his right hand up and slid two fingers under the cover and between the first few pages, hesitating before finally flipping the cover open to what lay beneath. 

‘Dad, it’s too heavy,’ a voice whined, a tad petulantly but somewhat normal for a child of ten. Patton stifled the shivering in his spine as he turned to glance at Logan, attempting to push a stack of boxes out of the way in order to get to another large box labelled “Ethan’s Books” in a curvy, blue scrawl. With a heavy heart and quaking legs, Patton rose to his feet and placed the book back slowly, covering it up as he remembered a small child of fifteen with hair like midnight washed ashore of the river not seventy meters from the house. 

A loud crashing sound made his heart race, turning with the speed of a parent concerned for their child’s safety. The boxes Logan had been pushing at had tumbled, one landing but a few centimetres from the boy, pieces of broken china and porcelain strew by his feet. For a second Patton could swear his heart stopped, the possibility of the box having landed on his son enough to make him crumble, knees giving way as he tumbled to the floor and gripped the wooden planks for dear life. He could hear Logan asking if he was okay, a tiny hand running through his hair and over the top of his spine before it vanished and two, twig thin arms wrapped around his neck and held on. Patton knew his grip would be bruising if he tried to hold his son, fingers wrapping into fists, clenching and unclenching as he blinked back tears of relief and horror. The box would have been heavy, if Logan had been any closer, he could have… 

Patton dropped back, not caring as his heels dug into him, thighs and legs burning from the stretch as he finally wrapped both arms around his son and held on tight. Logan wheezed gently, but Patton ignored that in favour of the young boy’s forehead burrowing into his chest, fingers grasping lightly at the hairs on the back of his neck. It was only when Logan tried to draw back that Patton realised how hard he’d been breathing, throat tight and eyes burning a little as the almost perfect image of a ten-year-old him stared down, concern muddling his features as tiny fingers poked his father’s glasses back into place, feet and legs dangling off Patton’s torso and knees before he clambered off altogether and did a twirl in the dusty attic. He hopped once to the right, then sidestepped to the left, twirling once more before he spoke, ‘I’m fine, dad.’ 

The reassuring smile Patton was given made his heart ache, sitting back up on his knees as he watched the ten-year-old move back to the broken crockery, shoving a few pieces aside with his black leather shoe before dropping into a crouch and picking one up gently. Patton trembled off to the side, a mere onlooker to Logan’s life. It was strange, seeing how much his son looked like him but acted like his father, self-assured and confident in the wake of near disaster, calm and collected at all times, walled off and often mistaken for being cold when he was just trying to keep himself from heartbreak. He was so young, too young to be just like his matured father, but here Patton was looking at the cross of his lover and himself as their child worked on righting his wrong without the help of his dad. He was so careful with the sharp edges, seemingly used to being careful where most other children would have to be told to stand back whilst their parent took over the duty of cleaning, but Logan kept working, taking the shards of broken plates and mugs and righting the box they’d once been in as he deposited the pieces back into it. 

Patton looked from his son to the box and book, swallowing as he realised what he was about to do. The thrum of his nervous energy had stilled, heart rate returning to normal, soreness evaporating from muscles and joints as he turned his body fully to the box and stood, taking one step and closing the lid of the wooden box, listening to the soft click of the lock closing and feeling the sharp brass on each corner as he lifted it into his arms and walked to the ladder. Maybe Logan would forgive him one day, but until that day arrived, he would be forever guilty for continuing the tradition. He just had to hope Logan wouldn’t make the same mistake his family had made for years on end, hope that when Logan found the box, he wouldn’t open it and read the book, and wouldn’t seek her out. 

_____________

The trees beckoned him deeper, tall birches on each side lacking leaves as the cool autumn wind whistled through their bare branches with hidden malice. It wasn’t to be trifled with, but he wasn’t here to trifle with the wind. He was here for something much greater than the wind; more powerful than any force he knew and willing to help him for a price. He just hoped the price wouldn’t be as steep as his predecessor’s. 

There was a chill in the air of incoming winter, combined with the dull monochrome clouds overhead made him shiver, bones rattling softly inside his skin as he rubbed his covered arms and clutched the book close to his chest. “Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus” by Mary Shelley dug hard corners into his sweater covered ribs, but he much preferred the hard cover versions even if the novelty of such things was lost on him once they went up in smoke. Regardless, it protected the book while he read it and it made for a more decent and long-lasting fire which was good, especially during the colder months. 

The wind tore through the trees, scattering leaves across the ground in fistfuls of darkened colours; deep browns and reds hurled about by the unseen force of nature. He stopped to watch the leaves flutter to the ground momentarily, choosing to take in the sight that reminded him of other books he’d read; conjuring up the imaginings of an autumn in Paris, or the ending of summer in a book set close to home. Some of the books were like that, set close to home where autumn was fall and with June came summer, but in other books he was transported thousands of miles around the world to another town, another city, another country where summer came in the early months of the year and with winter came no snow, only rain that pelted the windows and umbrellas of the characters. Though he supposed it was nice to have books set outside his dingy little town, where every street looked the same and there was no outside accommodation. 

Another gust of wind shook him from his thoughts, but he soon returned to them as he parted the book from his chest and flicked through the pages with chilled fingers. Who would want to live in his town when they could live somewhere like Naples, in Italy? Or maybe Perth in Scotland. He would adore to travel, but that was not to be, and he feared he may never have that. Instead he would read and continue to read, in hopes he may one day achieve the impossible, though he didn’t know what came after death so in part he hoped he would become a wandering spirit like that of the Little Mermaid from the Hans Christian Andersen story, stuck wandering the earth for three-hundred years doing good deeds would be preferable to a great expanse of nothingness. 

His feet stopped moving. Eyes darting up from the slight grey tinged pages of the book to look at the trees around him. It felt like instinct now. Like his feet knew exactly where to start and stop their journey without much thought put into the walk itself, as if he could allow him mind to wander completely and go into an autopilot state while traversing the densely leaf flooded area. Though he would never allow that to happen, too dangerous. No, he would never let himself completely drop his guard like that, especially when certain people would love to follow him out here and destroy everything he’s worked to do over the years. 

Swallowing he stepped past the first of the carved-up trees. He’d once mapped out every tree that had the symbols, akin to two small arrows – made of three lines each – pointing down and connected by the shaft of the lower arrow. It wasn’t a symbol he’d ever seen in runic books he’d found in the library, nor could he find anything on the internet about the symbols – though there wasn’t exactly an easy way to put into the search engine “two arrows connected”, “witchcraft”, and “runes” without alerting some suspicion, and with the only Wi-Fi hot spot in the library where searches were monitored, it was a bit of a task to get anywhere without being looked at with reserved yet curious gazes, not something he wanted. 

Back to his mapping expedition; it had taken him roughly two days to map every tree and a line that connected them to one another. Truthfully he’d done it for a geography project, once upon a time, hoping to hand it in once he’d finished off the map, but he discarded that idea as soon as he imagined how he’d explain his knowledge of the trees to his teacher when the trees themselves lay far outside the start of the forest, a near ten minute walk if he was slow and taking his time – something he often did as it gave him the time to ponder how his life had become so tangled in superstition and beliefs held by his family. 

At last his trampling of leaves stopped, slowing to a halt as the trees arched up to the sky and the wind blew cold against his now crimson cheeks. The locks of hair he’d attempted to brush behind one ear fell over his eyes, stirred softly between eyelashes and plastic lenses as the wind dipped to a more manageable breeze. He removed the glasses, tucked the hair back behind one ear and replaced them, blinking readily as he took in the full sights of the forest, listening to the sound of distant birds and the calm atmosphere of the circle of carved up trees. 

It always struck him as odd. No birds ever entered the circle of trees, sat on the branches to caw at him with dark beaks and darker eyes. They steered as clear of the trees as the other animals did, for though he’d seen a fox or two across the circle when he entered, they never dared step foot inside and drove clear of the circle. He supposed he should have as well, if the animals were afraid then perhaps they had good reason to wander so far from the edges of the trees. And yet he continued to retrace his steps and the steps of his ancestors into the woods and into the circle. 

In the centre of the circle, far from the somewhat pear-shaped outer line of arrow-ed trees, lay a mass of small rocks and a singular few large boulders. Spliced through the boulders and rocks grew trees, thin and tall with sickly pale bark. The dark rocks, black with tiny holes dotting the surface no matter how smooth the rest of the rock was, had been mapped alongside the tree circle. As it so happened the rocks also formed a sort of circle of their own, however wobbly and skewed the line connecting the rocks was. The smaller rocks formed a larger circle, interspliced by the larger rocks, few of which formed small clusters that overlooked the rest of the circle and the centre. At the very centre of the rock circle, or as centred as something could be in such a crooked circle, stood a tree like all the others; thin, tall, pale with not a leaf or flower in sight and, aside from the coal dark lines that ran over the bark and knotted eye-shaped indentations, it was a replica of every other tree within the circle. It was at that tree that the burning began. 

The short space of time between entering the circle and crouching before the centre tree, book set against the base and matchbox in hand, left something to be desired. A short walk that had, once upon a time, been filled with hopping atop the rocks, racing around the circle and standing tall on the highest pile of black stone to pronounce a name to the world that held little meaning to anyone but the forest itself, had become a short walk of quick and careful step placement. In and out. That was his family’s way and it would remain as such. 

The lighting of the match was always fumbled, though he’d been doing so for so long he never was able to get through a single session without fumbling with the match. At last, flame flickering atop the now blackened match head, quivering fingers drew close to the pages of the book, watching with mournful eyes as the flame jumped from the head of the matchstick to the wilted pages of the book. It was the only truly sorrowful part of the whole thing, watching the book burn to ash in front of his eyes as he hands splayed close to the fire for warmth. 

As the book became ash in front of his eyes, a feeling overcame him of warmth unlike any other. Something almost paternal yet not quite there, a mixture of giddiness and love that was not of his own making. Something pressed down on his right shoulder, like fingers made of wind that he knew were not truly there. He placed his hand over top of the invisible force on his shoulder and sighed as the feeling waned immediately, the book now completely gone and the warmth within him turning back to the cold numbness he always felt after a session like this. 

He stood, eyes lingering on the pile of ash he knew would be gone along with the burn marks on the tree’s base. A miracle, some would say, that a tree could clean itself of burn marks, but he knew better. Chilled and inept fingers fumbled for his phone, pulling out the cracked screen and scratched black covering as the home screen illuminated with a picture of what had been left of his family. With a thumb stroke and a press to the home button, he pulled up his photo gallery and scrolled through to a locked album, tapping in the password as he began his walk out of the circle. A page appeared, the picture of the last page in that old book passed down from generation to generation. He numbly reread what was written on the page before stopping right as he was about to exit the circle, turning to look back into it. 

A glimpse of a moving branch was all that greeted him as he took in where he had once crouched in the rock circle, now only a step away from exiting the tree circle. He paused before slipping his phone into his pocket, rubbing his hands together and breathing on them as he looked up at the rock circle and centre tree again, ‘I thank you for your service to my family. I promise to continue our pact, for my name is my family’s and my duty is under your care.’ 

The wind blew up as he finished, he turned his back on the circle and stepped out, startling a fox as it rushed though the undergrowth. 

_____________

Entering a house owned and operated by one person, will forever be one of the loneliest things in his life. Where once there had been two or three, or even five people living in a shared space, laughing and joking and caring for one another, now only one resided. It was as if someone had come during the night and killed the family that used to live in the house, remaining after to watch over the photographs of a happy couple with their only son and the single living grandparent. It was a lonely affair, keeping the house by himself with no other living person to keep him company, yet to be fair it was not as if he could fully complain. Sure, he was angry about the conditions in which he lived, but he had always thrived on the attention of no one, an introvert through and through who found solace in a space completely their own.

And the house was completely his own. He had no one else to live with and no living family to care for. That is discounting the house itself and the many photographs of his family strewn about the small abode, for which he cleaned and polished until not a speck of dust decorated the precious memories of a family long gone. Though he knew he was one in the photos, it often felt as if he were staring at a stranger, or better he was the stranger staring at himself. As if he were an intruder in his own home, one that felt poorly and continued to keep up traditions and clean the house for a family that would never return.

Past the wire door, past the door frames and the peeling paint of the large wooden door, past the entry way and the carpet and the shiny oak flooring, past the hallway full of doors to never be opened again and the kitchen where he’d learned to cook for himself, past all of that and down a hallway was the living room. That was where he spent most of his time. The living room, devoid of life and frozen in time, kept hold of a great many pictures along with the obligatory furniture and the shrine of remembrance he’d created. 

The space, roughly the size of a small classroom, had once been painted a rich cream and decorated with two couches, both faux black leather. With a single bay window out to the small and barely touched garden, large double doors of shiny mahogany opposing the aforementioned window, and only two other sources of light in the room; the living space had seemed much more a place of mourning since he became the last of his family tree. So dark now, seemed the room, that even when the sun was able to shine briefly into the room, all lights were turned on, and the doors were left open, it still appeared dark and gloomy in comparison to the rest of the world. 

In this room he found his solace, but also his anguish. With so much lost and little to gain, he found that the room offered not just the memory of a life he once had, but also a reprieve from the outer world. An outer world where he did the bidding of others, lived a life full of abysmal despair, and had nothing to look forward to other than opening and pardoning himself through the gates of death. 

He had thought of how his life may end, but many of the ways involved the intertwining of the book and his family legacy. From old age to an accident at the hands of fate, how he would go was anyone’s guess; but he dearly hoped for something painless, preferably not drowning or burning or asphyxiation. Anything else was fair game in his eyes, anything else at all, though with the uncertainty of the world he had little hope his wants would be met, such was his luck and the luck of his family. 

His feet carried him, mind lost to other thoughts, toward one of the large couches, depositing him on the leather and reclining themselves up, feet pillowed on the arm rest as his height allowed him the advantageous arrangement of not having his neck pressed against the other arm rest. Honestly, he never blamed his genetics over such a height, it was good for many things; staying out of sight, being able to go unnoticed in a crowd, clothing had never been a problem as they always had things within his size, and so on. He often wondered how those taller than him were able to stand being such a height, many a question pulsing within his head at the sight of someone over a head taller. How could such beings sleep? As it was his most cherished blanket barely reached past his toes many nights, so how would one that much more vertically inclined be able to cover themselves for the night time escapades of their unconscious body. He had no answer to such a question. 

But dwelling on the aforementioned blanket drew his mind back to reality, eyes flicking towards where he had folded and placed the blanket not a day previous. Reaching out he was able to brush his fingertips against the synthetic and organic material, the tiny hairs of the fake fur soft under his chilled skin. One tug was all it took to bring the blanket to him. The material rolled out, each perfect line loosing shape against gravity as he shuffled the large navy rectangle over his body, wrapping it close as his hands danced over the tiny interwoven white dots on the other side of the furry blanket. With the soft synthetic fur against him and his fingers tracing the pattern of constellation sewn into the other side, he allowed his tense muscles to relax, eyes drifting skyward to the ceiling as he ignored the soft grumbling of his stomach and the empty gnawing of his heart. 

Allowing his eyes to close for the moment, he stilled and pulled his hands and arm beneath the warm cocoon he’d created. Images of the day passed like phantoms against the inside of his eyelids, each one blurred with motion and feeling. He sighed, the soft sound lingering in his ears for a second too long before he opened his eyes once more and breathed evenly. Morning would come eventually, and with it the monotony of his life. He had hope tomorrow would be a far cry from the average he’d come to expect, but no such thing could ever come of his life. Rolling onto his side, he tucked himself in once more, looked towards the book he’d brought out for his consumption starting tomorrow, and closed his eyes for sleep. 

_____________

Fingers turned the old, withered page with ease, being gentle with the brittle paper as another was flipped in favour of a diagram. With a sigh and a second spent tracing the diagram with a lone finger, the deep red cover was set back in place, book closed as fingers dared to trace the grooves that appeared so realistic the cover could have been made of the bark it was attempting to replicate. Straying from the knotted texture to the small brass circles, the finger raised slightly, pressing the tip of a slightly chewed nail to the top of the metal circle before tapping it gently a few times.

With a long sigh, Logan pushed back in his chair, only slightly enjoying the spin that accompanied the new space – now lacking the table he’d once been using. The book lay atop the table, taunting him with information he knew off by heart. He glared at the comprehensive guide, arms crossed as his feet touched the top of the chair’s legs, pushing himself forward to slouch in the plastic monstrosity – really, he had no clue who had designed such a beast but they should have been fired the moment their pen or pencil touched the planning paper. 

The chair, however, was the least of his concerns as he quickly realised the boy not a table down from him now had his eyes pinned on Logan. When the boy had arrived, Logan had no clue, but now he was earning a steely gaze from those disapproving grey eyes. Logan hurried back to the table atop the chair, a flush rising to his cheeks as he swiped a hand over the book and took hold of the spine, standing quickly as he attempted his first getaway and subsequently tripping on the chair’s legs and into the table. With even more of a flush present and curses spinning around in his head, Logan rubbed his now sore right hip and bit his lip in frustration. 

Those eyes were still on him, a soft huff heard in the new silence before pages were turned and the boy returned to his own book. With the grace of a baby duckling and all the confidence of a mocked child set in the spotlight, Logan withdrew from the chair and table and walked towards the exit of the library. Never in his life could he truly say he’d been so embarrassed, though tripping on the pavement outside the high school and landing face first in a puddle ran a close second, this however topped the list for one small reason; the boy who had seen him do such things and make such a fool of himself had been a reoccurring crush of Logan’s for many years. 

His father had never had the chance to tell him much of love and Logan knew very little of what constituted as a healthy romantic relationship, had he been given the chance he most likely would have made more of a fool of himself, but instinct told him not to interact with the boy and instinct had yet to fail him. So, with dampened spirits and the heavy book in tow, Logan trudged down the library steps and back to the house he called home, a mere five minutes’ walk if the weather was decent and the foot traffic allowed it. He counted it as his blessing for the day that he was home before sundown, karma perhaps though he had little faith in the concept. 

The door felt heavy against his arms, the struggle to push it back feeling tenfold in the wake of his nerve filled encounter with the boy in the library. But there was a single other reason it was so hard to open. In the hallway, his shadow crossing over family picture after family picture, he finally stopped at one in particular and stared at the occupants. Against the pale blue background of a professional photographer studio, nestled under the head and arm of his spouse was a smiling man. He was similar to Logan in many respects; the same soft jawline, the same gentle brown eyes, the same unruly dark hair and sloping shoulders. Logan had never met him, but knew his father loved his papa as much as he had loved him. Perhaps even more. It was something he could never discuss with his father, those days were long gone, but he had hope that wherever the pair were they were happy. 

Papa had died a year after Logan was born, or so his father had said. Truthfully Logan always hoped that Papa was alive and well, imagining him being a spy on a mission away from them or in a war on another planet. Days were spent thinking about how to trip his father up into admitting that Papa was still alive and out there, but as childhood faded into teens Logan knew that no such thing had taken place. Papa was gone, had been for years, and that was slowly killing the last family member Logan had left until at last, not five years after Logan stopped believing his papa would come home, his father passed away. It had been a calm death; the doctors had said when he was brought in, – a thirteen-year-old with a runny nose and no other family to speak of – they answered his only question about his father’s passing and then he left after kissing the corpse’s temple. 

He had known it was coming, his father always warned him of their mortality and how in their family they were unlikely to live long lives. The rate of death within the family had been something passed down from generation to generation and though they had been a fortunate family in terms of economics and finance, they were severely lacking in actual family members. Tracing the history back Logan had discovered a pattern; the family had never had more than one child and married early on with their one and only heir arriving close to a year into the marriage. Logan’s grandmother had only been forty when she died, her “husband” – Logan’s grandfather – had been a one-night stand in the bathrooms of Logan’s high school during the last moments of her final homecoming. She took leave from school as soon as she found out and that was that. Logan’s father had been older, but only because he required a surrogate and needed to find the right person to allow such a process to happen. 

Logan traced the outline of his papa, imagining what could have been for a second before taking off down the hall, hands and nails digging into the leather of the book’s cover. Behind him the sun shone brightly on the picture frames, the glass reflecting the sunset colours from the window across the hallway. The pictures never moved, but the light instilled a sense of vitality to the portraits and landscapes of lost family members. All watching on as the next generation was left alone.

_____________

It was not in Logan to be bitter towards his family. He’d never felt anger seeing the pictures in the hall of happy family members with children who saw their parents often, were able to grow with the young parents, saw their parents at their award ceremonies and graduation. Logan never felt sour about that because he truly never felt when he saw their happy faces. How could he even begin to imagine what it was like to have a father looking over your shoulder and invading your privacy or imagine how it felt to have the sun on your face as your family sat down together for a summer picnic. It was not in him to be angry, bitter, discontent with his lot, but he had seen the pictures of what could have been, read up on his family, found out he was the only one of the family to be left parent-less, family-less, at the young age of thirteen.

No other child from their family had grown up without a parent, let alone both. Not a single other member of his long-deceased family had been left without another member of their family to help and guide them. He was an outlier in his own family, though all of that family were dead and gone now, but regardless of that he was truly alone.

He had no family, friends, loved ones; his only guiding light was the promise of living longer and the boy from the library. Even with those two things he knew only one was certainly guaranteed to him. A lonely life was his and a lonely life would his always be. Deep down he wished he had at least one friend, a confidant for his troubles and saviour to his social life; though reason and family luck dictated he would never encounter someone with both or even one of those qualities. 

A finger lent its way to pushing his glasses up, he was grateful to have them and see but as a soft-spoken person to strangers with no ability to socialise he had not been able to speak up and ask for them to be adjusted correctly. He supposed it was just another part of the dreaded family luck he’d been bestowed. Just as science and physics had taught him, he could recite their teachings and many days it was as if he were living proof of one of the major laws he’d learned of; “for every action there is an equal yet opposite reaction”, or to be more specific with the laws of motion, “to every action there is always opposed an equal reaction: or the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts.” He could recite the original, but the English translation was what his teacher had wanted most from him, not his ability to recall with precision a phrase written by one of the greatest minds in physics, or so Logan thought. 

With a shake of his head and a soft sigh, Logan sat on the couch in the living room and turned his eyes towards his lap where the book now lay. As a finger passed over the cover wistfully, he let the other hand wander to his pocket, fiddling around with the material in an attempt to find his pen to take notes once more. He continued to fumble with the pocket, eyebrows furrowing more as the pen remained lost to him, until at last he stood in shock. Dropping the book to the couch and taking off his jacket he realised in a moment of panic that not only had he made a complete fool of himself in front of the boy from the library, he’d also left both his pen and notebook at the library that by now would have closed its doors for the day.

Groaning at his own stupidity, Logan pushed the book away from him and onto a pillow on the floor before slumping into the cushions of the couch, fisting his hands in his hair and pulling gently a few times before letting it go. He’d need to get to the library as soon as it opened the next day, with luck the book and pen may yet be there untouched but with his luck there was no telling what could have happened to it. With a drawn-out sigh and the soft massaging of his own fingers on his temples, he turned his head skyward and tried to let his body relax. The same hand that had been massaging stopped and pulled his glasses off his face. After a second of sitting there with his eyes closed and neck pillowed against the back of the couch, Logan found his resolve and pushed his glasses back onto his face. He hadn’t the time to dally right now, eyes fixating on the newest book in his collection with its motley white and bright pink cover. 

Reaching out his hand took hold of the hardbacked book, passing over the tiny flamingos dotting the material cover before he opened it to where he’d placed the overly worn duck egg blue tasselled bookmark. His fingers paused on it, passing over each book name written on it and crossed out, each one a book he’d read that year. Then with haste on his mind and the swirling of doubt dimming, he pulled the bookmark out of its place and let his mind wander as the words became a blur in his memory. 

_____________

‘Who are you?’ The voice somewhat rough and heavy asked, a dusky tone of the voice not having been used for a long while filling out what could have been a smooth and silky question.

Logan nearly jumped, nearly. He had been quietly waiting for the library to open, calculating how long it would take to gather his things and take off in the opposite direction to school. His finger had been tapping his leg gently when the library finally opened and Logan had to stop himself from sprinting into the sanctuary he’d found, it would not do at all to be prohibited from the library for such an action as running into the book and shelf filled hall. He’d already been caught with food and sentenced to a month of not entering, he could not allow it to happen again because of running. But as he walked hastily into the library, past the many shelves and into the space he’d occupied but a day before he noticed a distinct lack of notebook and pen, to which he began to panic a little as his face paled over the implications. 

It was then he turned around to walk back out and ask for the lost and found box, only to nearly run into the boy from the library, who had looked down at him with a soft frown and asked that question of him. Logan, to his credit, did not convulse or flinch at the mere presence of the boy, but the suddenness of the boy had made him feel weak whilst his nerves finally let out. He noticed briefly the boy had in one hand both the notebook and pen but was more intrigued by how in the dim light the boy’s eyes shone a cold blue reminiscent of a cloudy winter sky. 

The boy, eyebrow raised only slightly, coughed into the hand not holding Logan’s possessions captive and tired once more, ‘I asked who you were.’

His voice was different now, the clearing of his throat seemed to have done the trick. Smoother than before with a hint of something heavy and dark. And yes, he will admit it, Logan did feel his face flush over it, how could he not when the boy had been a childhood crush for so long and was now talking to him of his own free will. Logan would have thanked anyone that was listening but was somewhat stuck in a trance.

‘Are you alright?’ the boy asked, frown deepening in concern, ‘are you unable to speak? Can you read lips?’

Logan tilted his head down, pulled himself from his internal struggle of what to do and cursed the fact he was about to do as many people did and make a fool of himself in front of his long-time romantic interest, ‘no. I’m not. Uh, mute that is.’

‘He speaks,’ came the voice Logan refused to give a face to, a soft chuckle only earning more of a flush from the embarrassed boy, ‘tell me, since you’re not mute, what’s your name?’

Swallowing to dampen the tremble his voice would have had, Logan looked up before averting his eyes from the soft smile he was being bestowed, again cursing his luck, ‘Logan.’

‘Logan then,’ the boy said, pulling the book and pen up to his chest which Logan now focused on instead of how many books on the shelf behind the boy were coloured white or blue, ‘Roman.’

‘A pleasure,’ Logan murmured softly, eyeing the book and pen somewhat jealously as the boy – Roman – pressed both against his chest softly with an arm as thick as Logan’s neck. A gym rat most likely, but a cute gym rat if that was it.

‘I assure you, it is,’ Roman said with a soft air of humour. Logan looked up at the other boy’s face momentarily to see if he was being laughed at, but the boy seemed genuinely happy, furthering the now outright crimson Logan was sporting as if it were the latest fashion trend.

Logan coughed slightly and looked away again, trying to calm himself by looking over the many books behind Roman, not nearly as interesting as the boy but a much safer option than outright ogling him right in front of him. How had his luck been so bad? Had he had an exceptionally good run lately, perhaps that was it. It would explain why the boy, his childhood crush from a distance, was now talking to him and most likely waiting with bated breath for Logan to mess up delivering a remark of answer, to which he would promptly laugh and walk away with Logan’s possessions, leaving him a broken hearted and late mess.

He looked up at Roman who stared down curiously, ‘may I have my book and pen back, I must get to classes.’

Roman’s eyebrows rose a smidge before lowering to a natural position, arm reaching out with the book and pen to offer them back to their owner, stopping when Logan reached out for them. Logan stopped along with the taller boy, eyes raising to look at him in question over the sudden stopping. It was a mistake to do so as he caught sight of every aspect of the other boy’s face, from his sharp jawline to his sculpted eyebrows. His eyes, however, focused on a single part of the face that moved as the eyes of the other had been averted from Logan to the bookshelf beside him. The gentle movement of Roman’s jaw suggested chewing, but he’d spoken so clearly he could not have been eating or chewing anything without it impacting his speech.

‘Which classes do you have? You’re a senior, right?’

It took a second for Logan to process the words before he gave a nod, a small hum and finally spoke his piece, ‘math and yes, I am.’

The statement was supposed to be the end to their confrontation, or so Logan had seen it, but the boy seemed chattier than he had originally planned. 

‘Cool, cool. Me too. I mean, I’m a senior too and I think we have like, I dunno, art together or something.’

Logan silently pleaded for the boy to stop talking so he could leave, ‘I do not partake in the arts.’

‘Right, sorry. Uh, maybe it was just “lit” or something like that. But uh, hey, you know I see you here all the time, so I guess it’s kinda like we have a class here together, you know?’

At the soft admission of a laugh, Logan allowed himself to smile a little at the boy, ‘I suppose you could think of it like that.’

‘Well, uh, better let you get goin’ to class then. I’ll see you ‘round.’

Logan took his book and pen from the taller boy, still smiling a little and trying to stem the flood of panic in his body. The flushing took a backseat to the sweat accumulating on his palms, his heart drumming in his ears was akin to sitting in the middle of the drumline whilst they practiced. It would take more than a shake of his head to clear the heavy thudding and rushing of blood in his ears. Even more so when his hand touched Roman’s arm as he gathered the book and pen from the taller boy, the skin on skin contact reminiscent of love as portrayed in some more realistic tomes. 

He was on his way to turn and leave, one step beside Roman and another foot out in front of him to carry him away when the boy spoke up yet again, ‘hey, can I, um, have your number?’

Logan stopped in his tracks, just a single length of his stride away from Roman, he turned to look back. He was curious, flustered, very embarrassed and more than a little anxious as to what to say next, but there was this boy – cute as they came – standing and facing him with a device Logan had never had the pleasure of owning nor using. And while he didn’t want to be made a simpleton of, he was obligated by his own stupidity to answer the question with another before offering up the only number of digits he could.

‘What, pray tell, do you plan to do with it?’

Now there was something new. The tell-tale creep of pink slowly slinking up Roman’s neck was something Logan was eerily familiar with, though not to Roman but on himself. The way the boy, usually so suave looking – at least in the library –, now stood with no answer but a soft stuttering of half-hearted attempts was so out of character it made Logan smile a little that Roman too was struggling to speak. So much so, did it please him, that he couldn’t help the soft laugh he let out which only served to make Roman crack a weak smile. 

‘I jest, though I must admit I have not the means of communication that you have. If you so decide to call on me with this number,’ Logan punctuated his speech by clicking the pen into action and looking up at the taller boy, ‘you will simply have to do so when I am at home.’

‘No mobile huh?’ Roman chuckled softly, Logan humming along with the chuckle as Roman put his own away and offered his arm to Logan, earning a soft look of amusement from the smaller boy.

‘No mobile, indeed. Perhaps I will see you around school. Goodbye, Roman,’ Logan said as he finished writing out the numbers, clicked the pen neb back into its plastic casing and turned on his heel. He left the library feeling a strange amount of giddiness and queasiness at the same time. Surely his day could not get any weirder than it already had, he thought as he began a soft jog towards the school building. 

_____________

As was customary at the end of the month, Logan entered the forest with a copy of the book he’d read. His step lightened due to the encounter he’d had with Roman the day previous. And though the taller boy had yet to call him, it still exerted some sense of joy upon him to know the boy even acknowledged his existence in a positive light. Not many did.

While thinking on such wonderful thoughts as a pleasant phone conversation with the one he’d grown to adore from a distance, he entered the circle. He was stopped and quite caught off guard at the sight of someone in the circle, so much so he almost dropped the book he’d brought. It would not do for this person to see him burning the book and tell the school, what Roman say if he found rumours about Logan and deemed him unfit to be friends with? What if he shunned Logan, or called him out in front of the rest of the school, forbade him from contacting him and destroyed all that Logan had tried to build up over the years? What if…

‘You think too loud, y’know.’

Logan looked up from where he stood, eyes fixed on the figure who had slid off the largest of the boulders and begun to approach him. A large hood and thick dark hair, along with his hunched over form, prevented Logan from learning what the person looked like. But from stature alone he could tell they were tall, not quite as tall as Roman, but most definitely taller than Logan – though most people were. He wondered, as the person drew near, how they’d found the spot, how they’d been able to climb atop the rock and down so fast, how they’d been able to enter what most deemed a forbidden place, how long they’d know it was there, how long they’d been there, how…

‘I said, you think too loud. Knock it off.’

They were right in front of him. Still hunched over and still taller than Logan with nary a colour in sight. It dawned on Logan that it was strange, he’d seen many people at his school dress so, but they still appeared human to some extent. This person simply did not seem human to him, somehow. They were covered from head to toe, swaddled in black and grey and white. The colours seemed to blend with the trees around them, the pale blond hair across their eyes and face almost white. But as Logan’s eyes drew from their shoes to their chest, he noticed something. A smidge of colour under the overly large hoodie they wore. Purple. A deep purple unlike anything natural he’d seen, but it blended so well with the black around it that it seemed to disappear. 

It was then Logan realised they hadn’t said another word to him, his eyes had been wandering for quite some time and he suddenly flushed at the implication of being rude to someone he’d only just met.

‘My apologies for,’ Logan stopped for a second as he realised what they had said to him before continuing, ‘thinking too loud.’

They huffed softly, something akin to a hidden laugh, before pulling back from the hunch to their full height, ‘you’re not scared? Good.’

‘What have I to be scared of?’

The stranger pulled one of their hands out of the pockets, Logan only just noticing how pale their skin was before they gestured slowly from their feet to their chest then back down to their feet once more, ‘all of this.’

Logan tilted his head questioningly, before he looked the stranger over once more, taking in every detail he could. With their head lifted he could see the glint of silver near their mouth and nose, eyes still obscured by the mop of hair in front of it. Nothing really struck him as “scary”, though he felt a little bad that it did not. He shook his head a little. 

The other hand slowly slipped out of the pocket, displaying a fingerless black glove, a far cry from the paleness of the skin on the other hand, ‘really?’

‘Really. May I inquire as to a name?’ Logan asked, watching as the stranger’s lips quirked a little at it. A soft chuckle resounded deep in him, as if the stranger and the forest had made the same sound at the same time. 

‘Virgil. Call me Virgil,’ the stranger said, pulling the hood away and pushing the hair softly to one side. Coal dark eyes looked over Logan and he was once again reminded of just how monochrome the stranger was. 

‘Virgil. I see. I am Logan, a pleasure to meet you, uh…’

‘Sir. Male, am I,’ Virgil answered, voice dipping into some kind of accent Logan was unfamiliar with that made the boy laugh gently to himself, ‘you?’

‘Oh, right. Male as well. May I ask your age? I myself am just eighteen and-’

‘Same,’ came a snappy reply. Logan had barely enough time to realise the boy had cut him off before he was walking away from Logan, hands stuck in his pockets once more as he walked to the boulder once more and clambered up in in a single, smooth jump. The hand he’d left out to stabilize the jump – the gloved one – dove back into the pockets as Virgil crossed his legs and watched Logan from afar. It occurred to Logan the boy was also a gym rat, much like Roman had appeared to be, but something about the climb had seemed self-taught and natural to the boy.

But he was staring again, and Virgil was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Logan shook himself mentally and walked forward, stopping to look up at Virgil from below the boulder before frowning and rounding it to climb on the rock from the much safer and lower end. He struggled minutely for a second before pushing the book onto the rock and trying again, stopped when two hands grabbed both of his own and hauled him onto the rock. 

‘Thank you.’

‘Welcome.’

The pair moved forward, Virgil now looking down at the book Logan had abandoned in his trials to get onto the boulder. Logan didn’t move much as they sat together in silence, Virgil’s legs swinging off the highest part of the boulder as one hand held the book, studying the front cover and blurb while the other hand dangled between his legs. While Virgil looked over the book, Logan pulled his knees to his chest as a chilly wind blew gently across the landscape. He’d never entertained the idea of what he would see from atop the boulder, but he knew now he’d never be able to forget the view. Not to mention the fear coursing through his veins. 

‘So, what’s a “wonderland”?’ Virgil asked as he turned the book back over to the front cover, eyebrows furrowed at the tiny flamingos dotting it as he pulled the other hand up to run his fingers over the bright pink birds and then over the title of the book.

Logan looked up at the boy with curiosity and wonder. Surely, he’d heard of the famous tales, and, surely, he was joking with Logan. But the eyes looking down at the cover told no lie. Virgil wasn’t joking and he’d truly never heard of the book nor the tale written in it before; well that is to say two tales, the book containing both original and sequel to the famous work.

With a shake of his head, Logan dropped his legs over the boulder’s edge and moved a little closer to the other boy, ‘a “wonderland”, in the case of this book, is a fantastical place filled with all kinds of things; from anthropomorphic animals in clothing to food able to make someone grow smaller or larger. It is a place of pure madness where nothing is meant to make sense and many of the laws we live by are simply not there.’

‘So, a make-believe world? Why would someone read something like that?’

‘For the thrill, I suppose. It entertains the idea of imagination; how powerful it can be and how one can be sucked into such a strange place where they are forced to obey the laws of a world not their own. There’s a lot to take into account but the general gist of most people is to; as an adult relieve childhood and as a child imagine the unimaginable.’

‘Sounds like rubbish to me,’ Virgil said with a soft snort, to which Logan grabbed the book and huffily shoved the other boy. The boy chuckled as he rubbed his shoulder with a soft smile, ‘you’ve gotten strong.’

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed at the statement, ‘I’ve gotten strong? Pray tell what do you mean?’

‘Just that I had to lift you up here and now here you are with enough strength to shove me,’ Virgil explained with a tone of underlying sarcasm in his voice. Logan frowned more at it but left the statement alone for now.

They sat in silence for another few minutes before Logan turned to Virgil, a question on his tongue that he wished the other to answer. Apparently Virgil noticed without even looking at Logan, a strange thing to be sure, but something Logan would be open to questioning later. 

‘You have a question.’

‘How did you find this place?’

Virgil chuckled softly again, the sound once more reverberating through the forest, though Logan paid no attention to it as he waited for the answer. The boy simply paused, smiled to himself and then lent back on the boulder, hands pillowing his head as he looked up at the sky, ‘always known about it, I guess.’

‘Always?’

There was a hum of confirmation to Logan’s left as he turned his eyes skyward with the monochrome boy. Other questions dangled from the tip of his tongue; snapping at him like scorpions ready to sting if he didn’t let them free, but he kept his mouth shut as he thought about Virgil’s answer. He’d learned of it from his father, Patton from his grandmother, his grandmother from her mother and so on and so forth. Perhaps Virgil was like him, like his family. It was a somewhat comforting thought, though he felt as if he were betraying some part of his father’s legacy by wishing that to be the case. By wishing Virgil was exactly like him.

‘You want to know how, but I’ve always known about this place. Kinda like I was born here, but I know I wasn’t.’

‘I sort of know what you mean.’

‘Yeah? That’s good.’

Logan stopped for a second, not ready to ask his next question, but all too eager to ask, ‘do you have a family?’

Virgil sat up. At first Logan was ready to backtrack, to back up after getting such a response from the boy. But Virgil didn’t seem angry, or depressed over the question, just a little wistful and lost as he stared out at the forest.

He answered, finally, ‘I suppose I do.’

To Logan’s credit he didn’t immediately ask the question his curiosity demanded he ask, but it was a question tinged with a barb he knew could either strike and come out clean or strike and leave a scar that would forever mar their newfound friendship.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ Virgil stopped and swallowed before sighing a little and looking at Logan, ‘they, my kinda family, what I mean is that I consider them family, but they don’t really consider me family.’

The new pit in Logan’s stomach deepened at the thought. How could he consider people who didn’t consider him family, well, family? It didn’t make too much sense in Logan’s head until he remembered a book he’d read years ago. The title escaped him, but the plot did not; an orphan raised on the streets by a group of other orphans who stole. It wasn’t the whole plot but that small sliver of plot stuck with him and he now paralleled it to Virgil’s case. 

‘That’s…horrid,’ Logan finally landed on, noticing how Virgil’s face twisted at his words. A sort of grimace that slipped off his face when he turned it to Logan with a soft, vulnerable look of questioning. 

‘You think so?’

Logan gave the boy a soft smile, attempting to be comforting, ‘I do, but if it is alright with you; though I barely know you and you me, I would like it if friends we could be?’

There was a beat before Virgil snorted, laying back down as a round of snickers exited his mouth, ‘that was the corniest poem I’ve ever heard.’

‘Well,’ Logan turned his face back to the forest, rubbing his arms slightly at the chill and embarrassment. A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned a little to look into the ink pools of the other boy’s eyes.

‘Corny, but sweet. Friends then,’ Virgil announced with a soft smile that caught Logan, a smile forming on his own lips at the sight of it on his friend’s. A friend. He had a true friend now, after so many years. Hopefully he would be open to Logan’s life as Logan had been to his. But right as Logan was thinking this he realised the sunset burning bright through the trees and his own perfect view of the beautiful sight. 

‘I know. Gorgeous, isn’t it?’

Logan knew he’d question Virgil later as to his uncanny ability to guess what Logan was thinking, but for now all he could do was marvel over the sight. The varying shade of orange and pink tinging the landscape and sky, pouring onto the clouds above and mirroring the sea of golden and crimson leaves around the circle. The sun was dipping below the horizon, blinding light caressing their faces as it descended ever onward.

When at last the sun was no longer in sight but still staining the clouds with a beautiful pink tone, Virgil turned to Logan, ‘I better get home. You too.’

‘Oh, right,’ Logan murmured, still caught in the glory of the sunset. He knew he didn’t truly need to be home at sundown, there was no one who would reprimand him for it or ask him where he had been all day.

Virgil slid forward, turning onto his front to slide off the boulder before Logan and as he did, he pulled up his sleeves. Logan stopped his own way towards the descent at the sight. On the pale skin of his arms, tinged pink by the sunset’s glow, were identical scars. Two arrows connected, surrounded by a circle that touched the shaft of one and the head of the other, almost exact replicas of the ones that adorned the trees – though they hadn’t the circle that Virgil’s had – around them. Logan was too stunned to move, but then the sleeves were back up and he was alone atop the boulder.

‘Need help?’

Logan shook his head a little to rid himself of his thoughts. Who would do that to someone? Who’d, by the looks of it, burn a symbol into someone? No one deserved that, not even the worst people in the world. 

The thoughts swirled as Logan made his own descent, brought out of them by a pair of hands tightly gripping his hips before slipping around his waist. He was pulled off the rock and set down a step away from it, feet touching on the ground as Virgil slowly released his grip and Logan turned to him with a questioning look.

‘Looked like you needed help. You couldn’t lift yourself up and you’re so short you could have hurt your knees and feet and hips getting down like I did,’ the glare sent Virgil’s way at the comments about Logan’s inability to climb due to his height did make the taller boy backpedal quickly, hands held up in mock surrender, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just short, not that it’s your fault, and I mean I’m taller so it’s my job to help you out and I mean, you know and I just, well, it kinda happened and I didn’t mean to offend you and, well, just, um, yeah…’

The lame finish made Logan smile a little, but as soon as the comedy of making someone – considered scary by most – scared, Logan was brought back to the scars. He was tempted to ask but yet again Virgil’s miraculous mind reading powers seemed to come to the front again.

‘The scars. You saw them, right? They were…they were done a long time ago. But they’re to protect me. They keep you safe and they help you and stuff. Uh, they hurt but I mean they look cool, so I’m not super mad about it. I mean if I saw them in a tattoo parlour I’d save up to actually get them, but I guess I don’t have to,’ the soft laugh that followed the comment was tinged with a vulnerable concern, as if he were worried about what Logan would say to him for defending the purposeful scaring on his body. 

To comfort Virgil’s anxieties and hopefully save what could be the end of their friendship, Logan found his courage, ‘they are cool.’

Virgil stopped, still as the trees around them, before a slight smile worked its way onto his face and he pulled the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows, ‘you really think that?’

‘Yes. They are very nice and though I am not one for protective charms I do think the idea behind them, whether the charm be real or not, is a comforting one.’

‘You don’t believe me?’ Virgil asked, the boy looking at Logan with a smirk as his eyebrow raised. Logan shook his head before watching as Virgil snickered a little, laughing softly before withdrawing a pen from his pocket and pointing at Logan’s arm, ‘let’s test it.’

Logan sighed but held out his arm, ‘why do you carry a pen with you?’

The other boy hummed a little as he finished doodling the symbol with surprising accuracy on Logan’s wrist, ‘graffiti purposes, or as I call it “art”.’

The shorter of the pair couldn’t help but chuckle at the reason as he withdrew his arm from Virgil’s grip and looked down at the remarkable symbol. He couldn’t help but shake his head with a small smile and a sigh before turning his attention back to Virgil as the light began to fade around them. The monochrome boy simply smiled, shrugged and turned on his heel before turning back on it and waking backwards into the forest.

‘See you ‘round, L,’ he called out before turning back and beginning to jog away from the circle in the opposite direction to Logan’s way home. 

Logan shook his head again, looked down at the symbol on his wrist, and then walked towards the centre tree. He pulled out the matches, set the book down, and got to work with a smile on his face. A friend today, his crush talking to him yesterday, what could possibly happen tomorrow. 

_____________

As it happened, what could happen tomorrow was a lot of things that didn’t usually happen. First and foremost, Logan had felt refreshed throughout the day, then there had been people stopping him and commenting on the penned-on image, teachers not calling on him and the acing of a pop quiz he’d not had the time to think of studying for. It was as if his usual luck and karma had miraculously been removed and, in its place, only the good remained.

So energised and wonderful did he feel, that he neglected to notice when the object of his desire for so long had sidled up to his locker and been waiting there patiently for Logan to finish gathering whatever books he required for an at home study session that night. When at last the locker did close, he was still too wrapped up to take notice of the person beside him as he turned on his heel and began walking out of the building to take the scenic route home past the forest to perhaps see, and or talk to, Virgil. He noticed only when Roman tapped his shoulder after following beside him for a good minute, the taller boy equal parts surprised and curious as to the change. 

Logan did jump at the tapping, eyes blown wide open as he turned quickly to face whoever was beside him and quickly flushing a deep pink at Roman’s close proximity and somewhat concerned expression. Bless him for worrying, curse him for noticing.

‘You good?’

Logan nodded a little at the question, not feeling up to answer verbally as he looked the taller boy over from his grey eyes to his ratty converse shoes. Logan wondered half-heartedly if the shoes were the only brand to fit the boy properly, so tall at such a young age and still attempting to remain relevant with youth culture; poor guy. 

‘I startled you pretty good, you sure you’re fine?’ large hands pushed into pockets, the shorter of the pair wondering if the larger boy had trouble finding gloves that fit, though he wasn’t that much taller than Virgil and it was a highly likely possibility that the pair had the same hand size…

Roman nudged his shoulder gently with his arm, pulling Logan from his train of thought and back to reality, ‘you seem thoughtful. Bad time?’

‘Bad time?’ Logan echoed softly, confused as to what Roman meant by the short phrase.

‘Bad time. Like, is this a bad time to talk to you, do you want me to back off for a bit. Or something like that.’

Logan looked Roman over, eyes landing on a bench across the street from them as he swallowed, ‘I was merely in thought. Today has been, rather good. My apologies for not noticing you sooner, but no, now is not a “bad time” so to speak.’

The taller of the pair nodded a little before taking a few steps, Logan’s eyes following the draw strings of the hoddie as they moved a little with the gentle breeze the movement created. Roman stood in front of him, looking down at Logan with a tiny smile and a gaze as understanding as he seemed capable of mustering.

‘Okay, well, want to grab something to eat or head to the library?’ the invitation was, for lack of a better word in the hazy fog that permeated his mind, inviting. Being asked out to eat with the boy, bidden to the library, given the opportunity to spend time with him one on one. Had he not been certain he was at his limit; Logan would have thought he’d been capable of flushing further.

But in the haste of his heart to say yes, he remembered his intentions as he left the school. Truly, there was no guarantee that Virgil would be there today, he’d not seen the boy there before, and yet while he yearned to agree to Roman’s request he also knew he could not betray the thought that Virgil, collected as he could be at times, may be sitting alone in the forest and awaiting Logan’s presence. 

He could take Roman with him, but. It would not do to introduce Virgil to another so soon after only meeting Logan, and there was the overarching question of how he’d explain to Roman his knowledge of the forest and the symbols and the circle and everything that was so very strange about the place he’d met and befriended the other boy.

It was with a heavy heart, an aching one too, that Logan knew what he was about to do was what was right in his own eyes, ‘I’m afraid I have somewhere to be.’

The slightly dejected look was quickly replaced by a soft smile and a nod from Roman, the other boy bouncing back quickly it seemed from the initial rejection of his question and offer. Logan truly did not think he could admire the boy any more than he already did.

‘Maybe another afternoon then. Tomorrow if you’re not doing anything.’

Logan offered a small smile of comfort, nodding along with the offer and agreeing to it wholeheartedly. He would not pass up the opportunity a second time, ‘I agree to your offer. Tomorrow is the first day of the weekend, so perhaps a later afternoon lunch?’

‘Sounds great,’ Roman agreed, the smile on his face relaying his happiness at Logan’s taking up of the offer. The bright quality made his heart beat just a little faster, ‘how does one sound? We can meet up at the library and go out after that to one of the cafés nearby.’

Logan hummed a little, ‘acceptable. I shall see you then.’

The pair looked at one another once more before Roman walked around Logan and began to jog back the way they’d come, Logan watching on until he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. A strange one to have an interest in, but he would not have it any other way. Heart finally slowing as he turned back to street and followed the footpath with his eyes. Deep down he knew they’d never be more than friends, but Roman deeply intrigued him and he did not care now if they would forever just be friends, the boy was so wonderfully intricate that Logan knew he’d be happy to just remain friends if it meant cataloguing every small and hidden part of the boy. If friends they were forever more, than Logan would just have to deal with that.

And with that weighing on his heart, Logan took a step forward and began his journey to the forest anew. 

_____________

Virgil was not at the spot as Logan had thought he might be, so he spent his time alone reading the latest assignment he’d been set before wondering – idly – if the great spirit would accept homework assignments as sacrifices. He had the gall in him to think about trying the theory out, but the whistling of the wind through the trees and the chill that accompanied it reminded him very clearly that no such thing would do for the protector.

With his back against a tree, head tilted to the sky and homework forgotten, Logan pondered why the spirit was even called such a name. If he were so protected by it then why was he missing family, struggling to make friends, so alone it hurt his soul? If the spirit were so otherworldly and great, how could it not see that what it classified as “protecting” felt more like a slow strangulation as Logan’s life-force was sucked from him with every book burned.

The book didn’t tell of how the name came to be. Between the matte red covers and leather binding, on the crisp old pages that had once been added slowly to the great book but now – bound together – could no longer be added to without overwriting the notes already laid out, in that book lay secrets Logan was to never share. He didn’t share them because of the ramifications to himself – he rather wondered if the look of insanity would be handsome on his usually bland face – no, he feared for the forest. Though it had not protected him, as it had done his elders and deceased family, it was still a living thing and if he was not seen as insane there was little doubt in his mind the beautiful circle and all its mysteries would be set ablaze. Never mind the ramifications on the environment, the spirit would be far harsher to those who saw to harm it. He could imagine a fiery figure, draped in orange, stepping from a crowd of flames to seek revenge on those that began the fire. 

Something bit down gently into his shoulder. From the shape of it he knew it was the spirit, the one that had supposedly protected him. He couldn’t allow it to perish after all it had done for his family, no matter how anguished he felt in keeping the secret alone. The spirit needed him, and he needed it, though truly he saw no good in it. The grip tightened a slight bit, the wind blowing softly and with it words in a language he could not speak. It was not a language anyone could speak; it was the language of the wind and the spirit and the forest. 

As poetic as the sound was, it left a gaping pit in his stomach, filled slowly as the pressure on his shoulder greatened then lessened, as if the spirit was squeezing his shoulder to reassure him. He was grateful for it. But with that gratefulness came a need to see the spirit, and with that need came the leaving of the spirit’s presence. It always left at his need to peek and he knew that it was only trying to care for him. In the book, the manuscript of the spirit and all its divine powers, it warned that the spirit had spoken and given instruction to never look at it, for then it would have to kill the one who dared gaze upon it. Though with human curiosity, it seemed to have learned to leave before the human in its care became too unruly and attempted to sneak a look at that which cared for it.

‘You’re here again?’

Logan stopped his train of thought, derailed by the sound of a voice he was coming to know well. With a soft smile and a tilt of his head he looked to his left at the monochrome boy in all his reserved glory. A single chuckle left Logan at something new that adorned the boy, a hint of colour in his cheeks as he tripped over a branch and stumbled back to his balance on his walk to the shorter. 

‘I am. I had hopes you would be here also, but I thought myself mistaken when you weren’t here to begin with,’ Logan said, patting the ground beside him as the taller awkwardly sidled up beside him, looking at the patch of ground with a soft huff and a little discontent before sitting beside Logan, knees drawn close.

With a tilt to one side, a hand splaying across the leaves, he answered, ‘I was here. Kinda. It’s hard to explain.’

‘Like your family situation?’ Logan asked, not intending to be rude, genuinely curious, but forever blunt.

‘Like my family situation,’ Virgil laughed. For the little bit of lightening, the ease of the tension, Logan was grateful once more. He smiled easily with the boy beside him, the pair turning eyes skyward to pick out shapes in the now thick blanket of clouds, soft shapes interspliced with a silvery grey tinge that appeared as shadows. 

They didn’t speak for a while until Logan felt something moving the books on his legs, one pale hand moving some of them and picking them up for inspection, ‘school books. Boring, useless, waste of time for reading purposes. Even the spirit thinks so.’

Virgil stilled at that, the heavy books in his hands lowering to his lap as he looked at Logan with a half smirk and a raised eyebrow, ‘the spirit?’

‘Yes, uh, the spirit,’ Logan cursed the fact he’d even brought it up. Why could the lightning that would, inevitably come, not strike him down before he’d said such things? Virgil would think him a fool for believing in such things, no doubt. It were as if he’d been on autopilot, his mouth and mind moving too fast for him to process and now he’d done it. If he’d thought he could protect the forest and the spirit, there was no way he could now.

‘You believe in her?’

Logan down at his shoes, suddenly finding both them and the ground beneath them very interesting, ‘I do.’

There was a soft chuckle to his left, but he refused to budge his eyes from where they were now firmly planted. Who knew the forest floor could be so interesting? He didn’t, but now he found it fascinating. So many colours and shades to each leaf; and was that one still a little green, how intriguing. 

‘I thought I was the only one.’

That came as a shock. Though, Logan quickly reminded himself, this was coming from someone he’d not seen in the town nor at school and had burn marks on his arms of protective charms that did work, wonder of wonders. It had been somewhat foolish to think Virgil could not believe in a spirit whose grounds had become his supposed base for getting away from his supposed family.

Logan twiddled his thumbs a little, passing one of the other without any real coordination or care, too stuck on the thought that Virgil was so very like him in so many ways and yet so different in others, ‘she, well, she protects my family.’

‘You burn books for her,’ Virgil said with no real tone that Logan could discern, but his head snapped to the other with wide eyes when the accusation was placed, or observation perhaps? Virgil was hard to read, but then so were most people Logan interacted with.

‘I, yes, I do. My family has been doing it for years and I have taken on the task that I have been set.’

‘You talk like a book,’ Virgil snorted, ‘but I get it. I know the stories. You burn the books you read and in return she keeps you safe. You mess up and she,’ he made a slitting motion across his neck and a strange sound Logan assumed was an interpretation of a death sound.

So, he nodded and pulled his knees up. It was what had happened to his father and grandmother. One missed book, one missed month, one mistake, and the spirit would come to take his life. It was always a peaceful and soft death; his grandmother died at a young age, as did his father, but both passed on in their sleep. It terrified him, but in a twisted way it made sense.

‘Yes. That is,’ Logan paused and breathed in, exhaling softly, ‘that is what happened to my father and his mother, her mother, her father, so on and so forth. The history dates back centuries and yet, I am the last.’

Virgil was silent next to him, the wind stilling as if to give Logan a moment to grieve and Virgil to take in what he’d heard. A soft swallowing sound was heard as Logan let out a gentle sigh, ‘I mean, at least you knew him. Your father, I mean. You did know him, right?’

Logan allowed himself to nod. The question brought back memories from his childhood, all erased quickly as the morning he’d found his father dead in bed resurfaced to his mind. The quiet in the house was unusual, the stillness of everything around him as he rose and walked to the other bedroom, the figure of his father peacefully laying there. He’d tried to wake him, thought he was asleep and had overslept, but after a few frantic moments of concern and shaking he’d noticed that his father’s chest never rose with the inhale of breath and his skin was chilled to the touch. 

‘You miss him?’

Logan sniffled a little, trying in vain to stave off the tears. He’d learned over the years he’d been alone that tears were a weakness. If they saw his tears, if the outer world knew of his suffering, they’d not allow him the freedoms he needed and survived upon now. But in the forest, where he’d once come bawling after the certification of his father’s death, and near someone who had been so open with him in only the first day of knowing him, he knew he could no longer hold back.

The first few left him breathless, the inhale painful in his throat as sobs choked him and shivers wracked his body. He almost threw off his glasses, shaking hands gripping them tight before he let them drop to the ground. Hands clasped around his face, frantically wiping at the tears as they came in a steady, salty stream. They burned. More than his throat, more than the lack of air, more than his heart and the knowledge of his lost parental figures. The tears burned more than that, searing his skin after the chill of the cold had become so numbing and constant. With every new dragging of a drop he felt another coming to take its place. 

A hand and arm roped around him and pulled him against a warm chest, a warm fabric enrobing his shoulders as he quivered in the taller boy’s arms. The soft hushing seemed non-existent in his ears, so loud did his heart pound that it drowned out all else but his own sobbing. He only began to calm when the rubbing stopped and Virgil sat them both against the tree, holding him tight enough to cut off some circulation but not bruise. 

‘I miss him so much. Too much. It hurts,’ Logan said through the sobbing, tears finally settling down as Virgil pulled the hoodie away from them and rummaged through one pocket. 

He hummed a little, head pressed against Logan’s, before pushing the hoodie into Logan’s arms with a soft sigh, ‘I don’t have tissues, so please be gentle with my baby.’

It took Logan a little over half a minute to realise what Virgil meant before attempting a watery smile and pulling the hoodie towards him. Less than ideal by far, but it would be suitable for the time being. The guilt over borrowing something that clearly meant so much to the other boy welled deep in him. But he did not turn down the gift, lifting the very bottom of the hem to his nose. He noticed that, either out of politeness or out of anger, Virgil had turned away from him. It made his heart ache again, guilt clawing up from his stomach to the squishy muscle in his chest cavity. This was selfish of him, was it not?

He looked down at his own jacket, ‘you don’t have to-’

‘There’s already tears and stuff on it. Gonna have to wash it regardless of if you use it or not.’

Logan felt a little amusement circle in his mind at the comment, especially when the tone of Virgil’s voice sounded neither upset nor angry, rather as if he were just stating a fact. 

‘Thank you,’ Logan muttered right as the clouds gave way to the first of the rain drops to come as he offered the hoodie back to its owner. 

_____________

Logan suppressed a groan as he sat down in the chair at the library. He’d woken late, very late, far too late for lunch with Roman as he’d promised. The answering machine of the house phone had been blinking and after listening to it in a rush he learned that Roman had come down with a nasty cold the night previous, meaning he couldn’t make their meeting and thus ruining Logan’s day with nothing to look forward to. It wasn’t Roman’s fault he’d gotten sick, but without being able to speak with the taller boy and now no longer having the private lunch to look forward to, Logan had trudged to the library; defeated, exhausted, emotionally drained, and not up for explaining to his teachers why his homework was soaked through as he would have to do come his next classes.

With his arms moved in front of his face, head buried in the wooden table in shame, he took the time to relay and refresh his memory of last night and the past few days. It had been a rollercoaster of emotional moments – from the highs of meeting and befriending both Roman and Virgil, to the lows of Roman getting sick and learning of Virgil’s spotty past with his family. It was all a far cry from his normal; wake up, go to school or the library, go home, rinse and repeat with time between those things for personal hygiene, sleep, and school work. His life had been bland, but predictable and easy to follow. Now he had friends – he was still finding it hard to believe he had two and not just one or none – who he had to spend time with, good time but time regardless. 

Craning his head a little over one shoulder, Logan watched as the world around him stilled. The library was always quiet on a Saturday; most either asleep, at home, or preforming some sort of task they’d become accustomed to. He knew Mrs Dorris next door, the right side of his own house with the higher number and a flowerbed so well taken care of he never doubted it would bloom, was taken to a small gathering at the local church every Saturday morning while on the other side the new couple – Mrs and Mrs Lawson – slept in and then trundled over to work on Mrs Dorris garden without her knowledge. He’d caught them once or twice and subsequently asked as to why they took care of the garden when the elderly woman already took such well-intentioned care of it, they replied that it was a good thing to do for someone who’d no doubt have trouble with the weeding. He left them alone after that and sometimes saw them as he passed by the garden on the way to the library.

Shaking the thoughts of neighbours and flowers from his head, he returned his gaze to his arm. The symbol Virgil had drawn had faded overnight. He wondered, offhandedly, if Virgil ever wished his own symbols could do that. Fade. It would remind him of the impermanence of them, but would he ever want them to be impermanent when he’d so adamantly defended their being there. Logan furrowed his brows at the symbol, then, with a gentle touch traced the symbol over once. It had helped him the day before, clearly it was a symbol that worked and worked well.

His pencil case was ransacked for a pen seconds later, a slightly trembling hand holding the black inked implement as he retraced the symbol on a scrap of paper and then worked over the symbol on his other wrist. Virgil had doodled it on his left, but now the dark symbol was easier to get to and redo on his right, he’d most likely thought Logan right-handed which he’d actually tired many times to work with; he always wondered what it would be like to be ambidextrous and how it would impact his life. He’d been a tad jealous when seeing pictures, and later videos, of people with such a skill. But he took the lack of time to develop the skill and use of his other hand in his stride and chose to do things that suited him better than developing a skill that, while useful for writing and drawing and few other things, was not as required by himself as it could have been. Had he been more into contact sports or some sort of daredevil that thrived on risk and reward who could very well have broken his dominant arm, the skill could have been used to great effect, but for a timid and quiet bookworm the skill was less needed and more similar to a party trick in his eyes. 

With the doodle complete, Logan put the pen back in the small pencil case and slipped his hands together to form a pillow under his heavy head. He had hopes that it would begin working immediately, that the symbol would not need time to work itself out and send the needed positive “vibes” out into the world to help him. For now, he needed rest, then he would test out the symbol and see if it was able to work. An experiment of sort, he supposed, that was something he could engage in. A small smile slid onto his face as he propped his chin on his flattened hands, eyes unfocused as one came away to take off his glasses. With the glasses removed he placed his forehead where his chin had once been and closed his eyes, reminded that he was in the library as the automatic doors opened and closed for a patron. Eyes shut he listened intently to all around him, picking up the minute sound of the librarian shuffling around and replacing books, the soft ticking of the clock, a cough from someone in the far right corner of the large space, the doors opening again and closing again with a soft whoosh and a gentle doorbell sound, the rumbling of the book cart and the patter of footsteps against the carpet. It was not quiet by any means, but it was about to get louder a the doors opened and again and Logan heard three things that spelled disaster for his quiet time; the soft sound of rubber wheels on carpet, the gentle attempts of a mother at their wits end, and the loud wail and yell of a small child. 

He took his head off his hands and looked behind him, reminding himself what day it was with a frown before picking his glasses back up. No rest would come here. With a deciding sigh he fished his splayed-out books, pencil case, and ruined assignment sheets, before standing with a small groan of protest. The spin of the chair did little to amuse him as it did not five days ago, before he’d come to associate it with embarrassment and discomfort upon standing. That is to say he’d found it amusing, watching it spin a little as his own momentum caused an opposing force against the chair, but after Roman had caught him in the library and stared him down curiously and disapprovingly before he’d truly met him, Logan had come to associate it with the embarrassment he felt during that situation, and no memories of fun upon the spinning chair could alleviate that. 

But, up and out of his chair, he moved away from the table. His eyes lingered a little on the spot he’d been cornered into his first conversation with Roman, surveying it as he slowed a little, giving the spot a small nod before heading out of the space and into the open world. The sun was less shining and more timidly hiding behind thick grey clouds, much too thick for Logan’s tastes. There was little doubt in his mind that rain would come within the hour and that made him reason a hastened pace back home. He did have the foresight to bring a small umbrella, but if the wind around him whipped up again as it had done during his walk to the library, he had little hope the umbrella would remain useful for long. 

It was with a drawn out sigh – out of sight mind you, such a sigh would render him a target for ridiculing looks from other pedestrians – that Logan finally came to his door, noted with relief that the couple had left the garden long before his return, and fumbled with his keys. Had he been more observant he may have noticed along with his observation on the garden, that a somewhat straggly and darkly dressed boy was sitting on the other side of the road watching him with intrigue. And had he been more observant the first time he would not have started as he did when fingers encased in leather tapped his shoulder and a soft cough echoed through the unusually empty street. Perhaps, in another world, he would have noticed and not jumped at the exclamation, not rapidly turned around so fast with his arms out, and therefore, not knocked Virgil out, off the porch steps, and onto the pavement. 

With a disgruntled growl and the stuttering of apologies, Logan raced to help the boy back up from where he’d landed, sprawled on the cement like a dark blot of ink on a pristine page. He continued to murmur out apologies as he opened the door and escorted Virgil in, the two walking through the hallway to a small kitchen as Logan moved quickly from fridge to tabletop and offered up the half-used bag of frozen vegetables to the boy. 

They sat in silence for a little over a minute as the taller of the pair hissed lightly at eh chill of the bag, moving it from place to place on his body before settling on the back of his head for a good while.

‘You sure can throw your weight around,’ came the muttered response to Logan’s soft apologies and display of fear.

To the statement Logan offered a curious glance, a shrug and settled back into silence as he attempted to think through the best course of action. The frozen vegetables would stem any bruising to an extent, his apologies had been genuine, and Virgil seemed to have noted that along with the tense atmosphere. Attempting to joke (or had it been sarcasm?) to lighten the situation they now found themselves in had been thoughtful of him, but ultimately ended with both feeling all the more awkward about their current state. 

Though with his tumbling mind a question came to the forefront that made Logan’s brows furrow and face sour almost infinitesimally, ‘how did you find my house?’

To that the darkly clad boy stiffened, tense as if each nerve were being pulled by strings outside of his body, before he sighed and sagged in defeat over the question. Logan’s curiosity only grew at Virgil’s beginning to his response, for he knew one would come regardless of how long Virgil attempted to put it off. He knew the boy well enough, though they’d spent less than three days together, to know he would “fess up” eventually. 

‘I didn’t follow you home, or nothin,’ well I kinda did but I had good reason. You went home so late, and you were so upset, and I just wanted to make sure you got home alright. I had a good reason, honest,’ Virgil seemed to stop for a second and think about what he’d said, ‘but I mean if you don’t want to see me that’s cool. Invaded your privacy and all after you opened up to me and it’s within your rights and all that.’

‘Heavens,’ Logan muttered under his breath, pulling one hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He took a breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it, turning his eyes back to the other boy as his hand retreated to the table once more, ‘you were worried for me, yes?’

A nod came, but no words as darkly dressed boy looked down at his hands, not daring a glance to the piercing gaze that would search his soul should he look upon it.

‘Then you needn’t worry. You have,’ a soft sigh and intake of breath, ‘helped me. You scared me, and I am sorry that I lashed out the way I did. I wasn’t thinking straight and the fear and adrenaline that flooded my system along with the sudden sound made me react in ways that are, well, untoward.’

‘I uh, I get it. You got scared. Promise not to sneak up on you like that, thought you might have seen me but, yeah, sorry ‘bout that.’

Logan waved his hand a little, ‘it was my fault. I, uh, I must thank you for caring for my wellbeing.’

‘No sweat,’ the darker boy murmured, and the conversation fell limp, the duo descending into silence once more. The soft ticking of a clock reminding them of just how empty the air was without words, but neither had a clue as to how to properly start the conversation up again without it landing flat on its face. 

Logan scratched at his arm gently before an idea came to mind and he peeled back the layer of cloth over his wrist to look down at the symbol he’d drawn, still dark with a few tiny streaks where the ink had bled into the crevices of his skin. 

‘You re-drew it?’ the question was a little hopeful, a little awed, but nonetheless Logan smiled at it and turned his face to look at his companion. Virgil was staring at his skin with a mixture of wonder and joy, a tiny grin on his face as he eyed the dark lines. 

Adjusting his glasses slightly, Logan took the moment to keep the conversation going, ‘I did. I appreciated all it did for me the day previous,’ he paused to think of his next sentence, ‘it was invigorating. My usual day is by far a less lucky affair, and yet with this mark I seemed to find more optimism in me than I often do.’

The darker boy simply nodded, still staring at the dark pattern on Logan’s skin, seemingly entranced by it as if it called to him in some way. In a way, Logan supposed, it did. The markings were the same as those on his own skin and surely it gave him flashbacks to the time when such marks had been given to him. Logan pulled his sleeve back into place, quickly covering the mark up, Virgil had been through so much to obtain the same markings and such terrible memories must be putting him through a great deal of strife in their present situation. 

‘You don’t have to worry about it,’ the now dulcet tone of Virgil’s voice arose, ‘if you’re worried about me thinking back to when I got mine, trust me when I say I really don’t remember that much. Like, I remember the pain vaguely but that’s all. I was way too young to remember anything but that, so if you’re worried about that, you’re uh, well you’re good.’

‘Oh, yes, well,’ Logan coughed to clear his throat of the uneasy tightness he felt, ‘if that is how you see it then I must say I am surprisingly thankful you do not remember much in the way of suffering. I am, however, still wary over your past and I do not wish to harm you through such ways.’

‘No sweat, dude,’ Virgil said, clearing the tension in the air with a swift change in demeanour and a wave of his hand. 

With that the pair fell into silence again and this left Logan to fiddle with the sleeve of his shirt once more before remembering certain scenes in books and deciding to re-enact a moment he’d remembered distinctly as having a good impact on both characters. 

‘Virgil,’ he began, ‘would it be, well, okay if I were to just talk to you as a friend? I am, as you can most certainly tell, not fully equipped for such things and I clearly remember times where characters in books often talked to their friends about “crushes” and the like. Would this be a suitable subject of conversation for you?’

There was a soft sound of muffled laughter before Virgil breathed in and agreed, ‘yeah, dude, go ahead. But, I mean, you could have just said it without all that preamble. I get it though. You don’t really know me that well and, well, same-same but different. You get me?’

‘I suppose I do, uh, “get you”. So, a change of topic would be welcome?’

‘Way more than welcome. So, “crushes”, who are they?’

Logan paused for a second, attempting to quell the building heat within him before he turned to look at Virgil with a hint of a smile, ‘his name is Roman.’

‘Roman, eh?’ Virgil asked, eyebrow cocked and chin resting on one palm as his smile turned amused, twisting up into a smirk as he eyed Logan’s flush and growing smile. ‘What’s he like?’

‘Well, he’s, uh. Well, you know I only just got to talk to him, and I really only just, well…’

‘Admired his visage from a distance?’

‘Ah, yes, precisely.’

Virgil let out a huff that bordered on a snort, ‘bookworm. I keep hanging out with you and I’ll be using all your fancy words too, looks like.’

‘Visage is not fancy, it’s just, well just a little…’

‘More refined?’ Virgil prompted, earning a glare from Logan as if to say “yes, but no”. But a second later Logan dropped his head down with a sigh and cupped his face with his hands, pulling them back to the sides of his face to leave his eyes free to gaze forlornly at the ground below. 

‘He seems nice, but I’ve never talked to him before. He returned some things to me, important things, and I think we’re bordering on friends now. He offered me his phone number, asked me to go with him to get food, and I don’t know if that is what I want or not. Roman is, well for one, he’s nice. And I know he can be funny and kind too, along with being undoubtedly caring to even the least of us. Least of us being me in this case, but to my point; I’m uncertain if I want us to be friends at all if my true intention is to want to be more than that in a romantic regard.’

There was a little more silence, both taking in Logan’s words as if they held more weight than they truly did. And in the silence, in the calm and quiet, against the tick of the faraway clock and the soft, wet squelch of thawing vegetables, they thought about the connotations of this. Virgil, who had no experience with love, and Logan, who had no experience sharing feelings. They were well and truly unequipped to deal with this reveal of both and had not the faintest idea of how to work with what they had been presented with. 

And yet, there was a problem that had to be solved, and they would try their best to solve it. 

‘So, you like this guy, like, like-like him?’ a soft grunt signalled Virgil to continue. ‘If you like him so much why is it hard for you to say it? What’s stopping you from getting it out to him?’

‘He’s, I don’t know quite how to describe it, but it’s a little like the muses to ancient Grecians. They were upheld, amazing creatures of extreme beauty and power, yet not quite deemed gods in their own rights. I suppose, in a way, I see Roman as a muse. Untouchable, unapproachable, and unwilling. What would his thoughts be on my feelings, and if he did indeed allow us to continue into a relationship furthering those feelings, how would I even begin to understand how a natural and normal relationship would function?’

‘You have your books. But I see where you’re coming from here. You want him to like you back, but since you’ve only just met him you have no way to tell how he’d react to you telling how you’ve loved him for years.’

‘Years?’

‘Hush lover boy. My point is that you want to get to know him, take him down from this podium-’

‘Pedestal.’

‘-Whatever, that you’ve put him on. You need to humanise him, and you haven’t been able to because you’ve never been able to talk to him before. You have that chance now and he wants to talk to you too. So, all you have to do is humanise him through conversation, get to know the guy, and bang you have notes to add to whatever creepy notebook you keep on the guy about his “likes” and “dislikes”, and “what his favourite colour is” and all that personal stuff.’

Logan blinked, eyes hard and never leaving the somewhat insightful – somewhat not insightful – Virgil as the other boy grew shy over the attention, poking gently at the thawing bag after removing it from his body, turning it over and over in his hands nervously. 

‘Peas and carrots, huh? You know you could probably grow your own, or something.’

Logan let a small smile slip at that, remembering back to when he’d attempted such a thing with flying colours in failure. Frozen vegetables were cheaper, easier to procure, and far easier to prepare on short notice. They lasted longer, though they never truly tasted quite like fresh produce, though he was willing to forgo that one small thing in favour of the overwhelming list of pros on the list. 

‘Easier to buy and store. I mean, without…’ he fell silent. He’d already opened up about his father, to an extent, but it never felt truly right sharing everything about him. Though Virgil was nice. Far nicer than anyone he’d met, aside from Roman and the couple next door, and of course Mrs Dorris who – though well into her years – still maintained the essence of a loving parent and often offered him small baked goods and the rare full home cooked meal; that of which he always declined, though not out of dislike for the lovely old woman or for her cooking. Regardless, Virgil was – or at the very least appeared to be – a genuinely nice person. 

So, it was with that information that Logan let out a huff, ignored the curious looks he was gaining from the person he now trusted, and turned to look at the other boy. 

‘I would, uh, like you to know more about my father. He was a good man and, perhaps…’ trailing off he turned on his heel, took a deep breath and began to walk to the living room. The albums would be brimming with information for Virgil to soak up. He just hoped the other boy would be kind when it came to critiquing his family and their legacy. 

They entered the room with heavy feet; Virgil’s from the slight dizziness he felt still, and Logan from the knowledge of the task to come. Dragging their separate paths towards one of the couches before slumping heavily on it, the shorter of the duo almost immediately got up once more, legs feeling weighed down by lead bars as he trudged to the single bookshelf in the room, dropping down to gather the two albums with their rich and ornate gold and red covers. Thick as bricks, heavy as four, and yet sparsely decorated within; the two albums were placed ungracefully down on the couch beside the injured boy before the owner sat down beside them. 

Virgil took the offered books, heaving them into his lap as the vegetables were laid beside him, fingers itching to catch on the first of the many pages. Logan moved a little closer, not fully remembering all that lay within the pages, but ready for the revisiting of them. 

The first cover fell open with a soft thudding sound, the page rustling as the darker clad of the two eagerly began his research into the family. Flipping page after page over as the years unravelled. Each picture told a story, the first few pages lacking any and only accompanied by drawings and re-written journal entries, but further from that came sepia toned pictures, noir grade photographs with dour or reserved cheerful expressions. Dates ranged from as early as the 1790s through to the late 1910s. When he’d finished that book, Virgil gently closed it and handed it back to Logan, the now distant expression he wore enough to indicate he was not looking forward to continuing. The next album began in the 1920s and soon after Virgil encountered a picture of a smiling girl, who morphed into a smiling mother of two sons, that transitioned into two pictures – one of each boy, though the first had been marked underneath by a small “X” – and then, at long last, a man with a child who became a man with a young Logan. 

‘You were pretty cute as a kid,’ Virgil mused, smiling tersely as his eyes wandered back to Logan, returning to the album to flick through the earlier stages of Logan’s life with his father. 

‘Thank you.’

Virgil looked up briefly at the succinct and somewhat distant reply, not exactly cold or sarcastic, but lacking in emotion. Taking note of this, the elder moved on quickly. 

‘Why’s there a mark under this guy’s picture? Who is he?’ 

Logan tensed at that, looking over the picture with a shine to his eyes that Virgil had never seen before. Whether it be sadness and the threat of tears or a glimpse of anger, the boy didn’t know. 

‘That’s Ethan,’ came the clipped reply. Virgil had somewhat expected it, but it still startled him a little. 

‘Ethan?’

‘A, well, a precaution. An attempt at normalcy. He died young. The mark is there to symbolise his death. My father, the other boy on this page, was the one to find him. There was, well it’s still there but, there was a creek behind their house. This small piddly little thing that grew into a river during winter. My father, Patton, he went outside one morning. It was cold and he was barely five, but he was curious as to where his “big brother Ethan” had gone,’ Logan paused for breath and Virgil knew the story wouldn’t have a happy ending, ‘Dad found him face down on the creek bed. Fingers blue, no pulse, neck snapped and eyes wide open to the mud below. The coroner said it was most likely an accident, that Ethan must have gone out that morning or late the night before and slipped off the big bridge in the centre of the town while it had been wet and just getting ready for winter. My grandmother knew better though.’

Virgil wasn’t fully at a loss for words, but he struggled when he apologised. Logan let his eyes fall to his lap as the apology came, fiddling with his fingers. 

‘You didn’t know the story. But the sentiment is appreciated.’ 

_____________

Truly Logan hadn’t thought much about Roman’s offered invitation, at least until it was offered once again, though via voicemail this time.

“Hey Logan, it’s Roman…from school, uh, I just wanted to know if you’d like to have lunch. Again. I’m a bit better, not one hundred percent or anything, but better. And, like, I ditched you yesterday and I’m really sorry about that, so,” a soft intake of breath, “please consider going out with me again. Not like going out-going out, not like a date or-or anything, just a hang out. Uh, yeah. If you want to, I’ll be at that little diner on the other side of the bridge. You know that one with the neon sign that looks all vintage and stuff, and uh, yeah. And if you don’t turn up, uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow for school? Right, yeah, see ya then.”

With that the message had ended and Logan had been almost completely lost for words. Roman was, once more, offering an outing. Of course, he never considered it a date, merely a get together between the two of them. He hoped it was only the two of them. Logan only met Roman out of sheer coincidence, a minute occurrence that changed his life for the better but meeting other people. Two was good. Two was enough for now. Virgil and Roman. He could handle them, but more. More was just asking for trouble. For messing up names and faces and forgetting instantly who people were after meeting them. But Roman had sounded genuinely apologetic, to Logan at least, and he refused to allow his personal feelings and worries get in the way of meeting and getting to know someone he’d pined over for years. 

So, after deciding to go in the late stages of morning, Logan began the trek across town to the little diner he had never been to. He of course knew it, almost everyone did. In a town as small as theirs was, with so few places to eat at, it was a contest between: the bakery a block from the library, the diner over the river with its neon sign and vintage aesthetic, the café beside the bridge that made the only decent coffee in town, and the tiny supermarket that played host to the weekend farmer’s market as well. Technically only the café and diner were options for cooked meals and drinks, but the weekend farmer’s market drew in all sorts of people; from homegrown pie makers to the only one in town that made hard lollies for sale – aside from the supermarket, though that stocked the leftovers of the farmer’s market for the rest of the week, so long as they were able to keep them fresh.

Side-tracked as he was, Logan happened to forget he was in a public space and rammed into the back of someone a head or so taller than himself. With that he nearly fell, they being a tad broader and more sturdy than he. 

‘My apologies, I was not watching where I was going,’ Logan murmured, looking up at the one who he’d run into. He was genuinely surprised to see the one he’d just given his full trust to in front of him. With his hand out to steady Logan, Virgil seemed a little on edge despite his attempts to appear not as anxious. Logan didn’t know why though, there was no one else on the bridge, a strange lack of people, though it was early afternoon, and most would presumably either be eating or at home, maybe travelling but if they were, they were not anywhere close to the bridge. Perhaps it was the bridge itself, after all he’d recently been told of a horrific death on that same bridge. 

‘Heading somewhere?’ came the somewhat unsteady question, not so much stuttered as it was said with a great uncertainty and a slight raspiness. And if Logan hadn’t just been reminded of where he was going and who he was going to, he would have questioned Virgil further on the subject. Regardless, more pressing matters entered his mind and he was suddenly struck with a dilemma; he could invite Virgil to come with him to eat with Roman or allow the other boy to wander around town alone. To this dilemma also came a modicum of guilt over wanting to be alone with the one he’d originally stepped out to see. 

He made up his mind quickly though, ‘the diner. I’m meeting Roman.’

To his credit, Virgil did at the very least act surprised over the mention of the crush. With the name he seemed to straighten a little, the sun hitting his back at just the right angle to leave Logan wanting for sunglasses.

‘Roman, Roman? Like, that guy you like?’

‘The very same.’

‘Well shi-, uh, sorry. That’s great. I mean, you’re having lunch with him, right?’

Logan allowed himself a small nod as he lowered his eyes to his shoes, the heat in his face forming quickly as he fought to keep down a smile, ‘yes. He invited me.’

The silence that followed that made Logan move his eyes up, but all he earned for that was a genuine soft smile from the taller boy. It was the kind of smile that gave well wishes out to everyone it touched, pure and unbridled happiness for another’s wellbeing. Whatever doubts Logan had once had now retreated to the back of his mind, perhaps he could send himself on his way and have lunch alone with Roman after all. 

‘Do you mind if I, you know, just like, walk you there? I won’t stay long, promise on my heart and all that, just need a little chat.’

A chat sounded indeed needed. So, Logan acquiesced his time alone, taking in the silhouette of his friend before shifting to beside him, now able to take him in for all his glory without the glare of the sun. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Not that his friend wasn’t pretty, of course, but he seemed less lively than he had been. The gloominess he’d once exuded had doubled with the appearance of a weary tiredness that hung off his shoulders like a stack of weights. It was as if Atlas had come by in human form for a break and yet still carried the world wherever he went, an invisible burden too great for one person alone. 

And that was when, as they finally stepped foot on asphalt as dark as ink once more, Logan decided to speak up about it. 

‘Excuse my impertinence, unwanted or no, but is there a problem you are having? Perhaps a family issue? You may choose to remain silent on it, but I am concerned over your sudden sullenness.’

‘I wasn’t sullen before?’ the snark was not appreciated, but through the sarcasm Logan could spy a tiny smile occupying Virgil’s face. 

‘You are avoiding the question. If you do not wish to speak on it, merely state nay to that and I will not bother what is to be left alone.’

A soft groan accompanied, ‘you know how much you talk like a damn book, right?’

They fell into silence once more, tangled in their own thoughts for a moment before Virgil stopped, Logan stopping with him and looking at the taller boy who was intently peering at something over Logan’s shoulder. With a small turn, the smaller realised they had reached their destination. The neon of pink sign dimmed in the sunlight, yet still ever present as the few within the establishment ate and mused over life and such. In one of the many windows sat the boy Logan had come for, eyes stuck to the screen in his hand and mouth pursed around the white and red paper straw stuck deep into a pastel pink milkshake. 

Had he not been with company, Logan would have no doubt continued to stare until he was noticed or roughly told to move. Eyes trained on something he knew he could never hope to have, and yet there was a slim chance he could. Just out of his grasp, shy of his outstretched hand, brushing past the tips of his fingers. 

‘Careful lover boy, you’ll be drooling soon,’ the dry comment warned, earning a flush and a soft glare before the duo began their way to the door. Logan opened it for the both of them, being the first to enter and having pushed it so roughly it stayed open enough for Virgil on its snail pace move back into place. 

‘Think I’ll leave you here. Have fun on your little date,’ Virgil snarked gently before paling at something over Logan’s shoulder. Logan turned a little to see what had given his friend such a fright to find Roman looking at them, having arisen from his seat with a soft glare on his face as he began to walk toward them, eyes lit and dangerous as they landed on Logan’s new friend. 

With the quick approach and sudden closeness of his crush, Logan had no time to return his gaze back to Virgil and see the utter fear on his face, replaced quickly with a scowl as the shortest of the trip finally turned back to him. 

‘Logan,’ came the somewhat clipped greeting, ‘who’s your friend?’

‘Virgil. You must be Roman.’

‘I am.’

From there all Logan could remember was a tense stare down between two seemingly apathetic boys before Virgil relented, looked to him with a small smile, and spun on his heel to retreat outside. Meanwhile, Roman turned and began his walk back to the table, spinning back only once to give Logan a little tilt of his head as an indication to move. 

Logan took to the seat opposite the taller boy, the other staring out of the window as Virgil walked past them and back towards the bridge. 

‘Strange friend you have,’ he mused lightly before moving his gaze to Logan, ‘but we can talk about him later. What should we talk about now? Movies, or books, or food? Speaking of which, have you ordered anything? I can go grab us something to eat. I’ve only been here for a little while, but there’s not many people here today so we can get top notch service and all that. Do you even know what’s on the menu today? There’s this burger with a great patty, and a really pretty looking cake in the window, and there’s always good pie here. So much to choose from, and I know there’s some vegetarian and vegan stuff here too. Are you allergic to anything? I’m a little lactose intolerant, but it’s never stopped me before, you know?’

At that point Roman finally stopped, seeming to have finally figured out he was talking for the two of them. Blinking slowly both looked out the window, neither sure of what to say to Roman’s rush of words. But finally, with a heavy breath in and a brave attempt to store his courage, Logan responded. 

‘Something sweet would be nice. I haven’t had pie or cake for years. They’re just too expensive to make, both time and money wise, and I attempt to steer clear of anything frozen for health reasons. You may have noticed I’m not quite the sports type, so keeping clear of anything overly saturated and sweet is just my way of taking care of my body,’ Logan paused for a breath in, ‘so, perhaps something sweet. I don’t mind what you choose. Though I am partial to anything containing berries.’

At the mention of berries Roman lit up. He was flying out of his seat a second later, dashing madly for the counter to order whatever he’d just thought of, and while he vanished for food Logan took the opportunity to calm his quivering nerves. With every word he’d felt his entire being shake, scared to make a fool of himself and, even more so, scared to say something of offense to the taller boy. 

‘Here.’

That startled Logan enough to remind him he was in a diner. Roman stood next to the table with a genuine bright smile and a plate holding a single slice of cake. A silver fork, smaller than any Logan owned, sat to the side of it and while the icing and cake itself were pale in colour, there was a thick line of berries and a trail of dark juice leaking from the slice. It looked wonderfully homemade, and yet there was an essence to it that had Logan guessing how long it would have taken to apply all of the makers knowledge to create such a thing.

Roman took his seat across from him once again, setting the plate down and whipping out his own tiny fork, ‘it’s called trees leeches. Or, uh, something like that.’

‘Tres leches?’

‘Uh, yeah?’

Logan let out a soft huff of breath, a tiny smile forming, ‘tres leches is a sponge cake. The name sort of means “three milk cake”, in a very loose way. It has condensed milk, heavy cream and evaporated milk in it, along with your standard store bought milk. The berry part is all up to the maker, but it does look good. Are you certain you should be eating this? You just stated you have lactose intolerance and this cake is all about lactose.’

‘Screw my allergies, or whatever, let’s eat. Dude, I’m so starved and that cake looks so good right now.’

With a small nod and a little gesture with his fork from Roman, Logan lifted the small fork with its three prongs, and slid the metal through the thin peak of the cake, carving out a little bit of berry, milk and cream bliss. 

_____________

‘So, how was it?’

Meeting up at the tree circle had become a rather enjoyable pastime for Logan, now he had someone to share it all with.

‘Wonderful. We ate cake and talked about school to begin with, then that veered off into what we wanted to do as a career, that into his love for art. He’s so charming.’

‘Tell me about it. You really are enamoured by this guy, aren’t you?’

‘It appears I am. But, tell me, why were you so taken aback by him?’

Virgil propped his head up on one hand, elbow shoved into the hard rock surface of the boulder as the pair stared out at the encirclement of trees. The wind blew hard and fast for a moment, dying down quickly as a few motley grey clouds drew over the sun, silver tinting their edges as the pair were swallowed by shadow. Beside the taller boy, Logan dangled his legs over the face of the boulder, he’d not thought he’d find Virgil there again, but it was the only place he could think of to find the boy on short notice. He still had questions about that morning.

Virgil let out a huff of annoyance, face contorting into a frown, ‘do I have to like everyone I meet?’

‘Well no, but-’

‘No “buts”. I just, I dunno, there’s something off about him.’

Logan inclined his head a little at that. “Off”. He’d never consider using that word for Roman, but Virgil had yet to be wrong, or right for that matter, about anything. So, he supposed he’d take the boy at face value, for now. 

‘“Off”?’

‘Yeah, I dunno know what it is, but something about him just, like, rubs me the wrong way. I know you don’t understand that, but he just, I dunno. I dunno where I was even gong with this.’

‘You don’t seem to like him all that much.’

‘Well he doesn’t like me either!’

That caught Logan’s curiosity, ‘pray tell, how do you know?’

‘He,’ Virgil paused, seemingly assessing his next choice of words, ‘well, he glared at me and I glared back, cause that’s what you do. Some glares at you, you glare back.’

‘Why was he glaring at you?’ Logan asked, genuinely curious over why his crush and – in his humble opinion – nearly perfect muse would be one to glare at a stranger he’d never met before. 

With an overexaggerated growl and huff, Virgil flipped over onto his back, ‘I don’t know why. I just know he did.’

His frustration was obvious. Logan could see why, as if someone had done similar to him, he most likely would have had the same reaction, but he had not and therefore had no words of comfort to offer the taller boy. 

This awkwardness led to an uncomfortable silence, only heightened by the now lack lustre wind that began to die down with every second they remained at odds in opinion. The anger of the taller clashed with the love of the smaller, and with every second the divide grew in magnitude. It was clear to both that someone would have to say something, and yet no words came to either mind as the silence stretched on. 

It was with a falling tree branch and the cry of an animal far off that conversation once more roused itself between the pair. 

‘What do you think it was?’

Virgil had sat up by that point, all too eager to find out as his companion held a steady gaze on the direction of the cry. 

‘No idea. It sounded rather fox like, but I have been wrong about animal calls before,’ came a gentle reply. 

‘I don’t dislike him, you know,’ Virgil murmured, eyes trained on the same spot as Logan’s, ‘I don’t really have a reason to, but he’s kinda weird. Guess you have a chance after all.’

The snickering was cut off by a gentle thumping sound, a hand hitting the side of Virgil’s shoulder as Logan attempted to restrain his own laughter at the over dramatic groan of pain that reverberated around the circle. He couldn’t help the smile that slipped through, though he was able to stop his own chuckling, barely. 

‘You really think so?’ 

‘Yeah. I mean, you’re stubborn as hell and just as smart, who wouldn’t want that?’

It was a kind compliment, is a somewhat backhanded way. Then again, Virgil seemed to know his way around such things. Logan agreed to the sentiment. He knew he was strong headed, an unusually heard hearted person as well. But he also knew he was intelligent, and not only because it had been said by many a teacher over the past thirteen or so years. 

‘Thanks, I guess. I just, well, I hope he likes me back in the way I like him.’

‘Isn’t that just the dream.’

‘I suppose. But truly,’ Logan took a pause to breathe in, returning his eyes to his knees as they dangled over the face of the boulder, ‘truly, my dream would be that we are happy together. I would not care if he did not love me back, only that he still wished to be friends with me. I have never had a true friend and then I gained two in the space of a week. Life is lonely. I only wish to never be alone again.’

‘I feel that. I mean, I don’t want to be alone ever. I have my family but they’re never really around all that much. There’re the animals here but, they just don’t have that, y’know, human quality. I get not wanting to be alone. Being alone is,’ there was a shuddered intake of breath, but Logan knew better than to turn his head to look, ‘awful. I don’t think I’d wish solitude on my worst enemy.’

Logan nodded a little. He loved his alone time after school hours or during the weekend, but even then, he would relinquish that in a heartbeat to have a good conversation, a moment, with someone he could call friend. Someone like Roman or Virgil, or his father before his death. True solitude, he didn’t think he could even handle the thought. After years of being so alone he could cry, he now had someone to share his days with and that alone would be worth more than he could ever hope to gain in monetary value. 

Their separate thoughts lapsed them into silence once more, each taking a turn to think of their good and bad fortunes. What had been lost and gained so easily by each of them, it almost seemed comical, or fortuitous. Either way, both had finally found what they so longed for and in a way, Logan could see reason to not want to ever give it up for another way of life. If he followed his course to unite with his crush, to finally find his happily ever after with Roman, where would that leave Virgil. Roman’s dislike of Virgil had been made quite clear, perhaps there was a way to smooth this over, but if not, where would Virgil have to turn in his hour of need. 

‘Don’t think like that. I don’t want you to sacrifice happiness to stay with me.’

‘I’m sorry, but, what?’

‘I said, “don’t think like that-”’

‘Yes, I heard you. How did you know what I was thinking?’

Something seemed to flash across Virgil’s face, gone the second Logan assessed something was wrong.

‘Guessed. S’what I would do.’

The breath in his lungs caught in his throat, unable to escape as Logan took stock of his friend, the one who he’d known barely a month but would do anything for. The boy before him, eyes cast to the side in embarrassment, fidgeted with a small stone as he refused to meet Logan’s inquisitive gaze. 

‘I want him. I want to be with him, but…’

‘Don’t let me stop you. You want the guy, find a way to get that. I’ll be fine. S’not like he can stop you from coming to see me, and I can always just turn up unannounced again. But next time, please don’t hurt me. I’m still sore.’

‘Ah, yes, my apologies over that.’

‘It’s fine, seriously. But really dude, you want him, go get him.’

That didn’t dissuade Logan’s thoughts much, if anything it only added to a roiling of his stomach and tumbling of guilt in his mind. He didn’t want to leave Virgil alone, ever, and yet if he had Roman there could be days where he might not see Virgil. What if he were to forget his friend in favour of Roman, the one he felt such an attachment to? He could not bear to think of how crushed his friend would be should that be the case. But it struck him that perhaps there was a way to get them to be friends. Should that happen he would not have to sacrifice anything in order to have the friend and love he wished so dearly for. 

Mind made up, smile adorning his face, his eyes raised to Virgil; ever determined and unwavering in spirit. The other boy seemed to shrink back a bit at the look, seeming confused and weary of his friend. 

‘What’s with that look?’

Logan only smiled a little wider, eyes crinkling at the edges as he began to think of a plan. 

_____________

It wasn’t unexpected that the phone would ring nearly halfway through the day, it had happened before, but before Logan knew that it was just telemarketers and the like. Now, where he would once leave it to continue to ring, he made a somewhat mad dash from one end of the house to the other, just to hear and find out if it were Roman calling. This afternoon, sunny and full of life despite the chill in the air and the season, Roman did call, and Logan did pick up.

‘Hey, uh, you free tomorrow? It’s just I found this really nice-looking bookstore and I want to check out this new book and it has a coffee shop beside it, and I promise it’s not too far out of the way from the normal stuff. And I mean, I get it if you have plans already, it’s pretty late notice, but I’d like it if you could come and, uh, yeah. Would you, uh, would you like to come with me?’

The torrent of words was cut off by silence for a second, Logan almost feeling the stop of his heart the second he was invited out. But, as always, he attempted to remain calm and composed, though he knew he could never fully pull it off. It was a wonderful idea, the pair of them visiting the bookshop and enjoying a piece of cake together after. Nearly romantic enough to be a first date, and yet. And yet, he would have to bring Virgil along for the ride. It was not quite perfect for a date, but it would be a perfect time to get the duo to become closer, maybe find out why Roman seemed so opposed to the idea of having Virgil around. 

‘That would be a welcome change, thank you.’

‘Great, great. That’s great, thanks. Uh, so should I meet you there or…’

‘I would prefer if you came to my house to take me there, I may be a tad busy before you come so it would be nice,’ Logan looked down at his arm with a smile, the symbol reinked into his skin, ‘if you could come and get me. I have no clue as to where the bookstore is, so it would be good if you would lead me there.’

‘Right, right, of course. Uh, you live?’

‘Littleton avenue, number fifty-three with the brick fence and the well-manicured flower garden beside it. If you’re having trouble finding it-’

‘No, no. I, uh, I know where that is. I’ll see you tomorrow then, say twelve?’

‘Wonderful. I will see you then, Roman. Have a good afternoon.’

And with that Logan hung up and headed to grab his coat. Though sunny, he did not want to be caught without one should the weather take a turn for the worse. Taking his keys from the small box by the door and slipping on his shoes, he departed the house with the book he’d been reading before Roman called. If he were able to make this happen, it would be very well worth the effort. To think he could “have his cake and eat it too”, or so he’d heard tell in books. The switched-up idiom would hopefully prove correct in time. But, idioms and such aside, he had things to discuss and someone to see. Hopefully, Virgil would be free at twelve tomorrow. 

_____________

Waiting outside of Logan’s house was a task in and of itself, Virgil decided as he sat on the steps of Logan’s home awaiting his friend. Logan had not told him much aside from the asking of his company come the next day’s switch from morning to afternoon. To his request for company, Virgil had been equal parts delighted and confused. Surely the boy was up to something, and yet he could not tell what exactly had Logan asking for his company. It was a mystery to be sure.

‘You,’ came a soft growl and Virgil opened his eyes, chin pillowed by his hands as he looked past converse covered feet and up to a general disgust filled glare. Oh, so this had been Logan’s plan. Confrontation.

Virgil sighed a little, cursing internally that he had to spend time with the individual responsible for taking up much of Logan’s own time. He was close to the same height as Roman, but he knew that the height difference would not be enough to dissuade the boy in front of him from being hostile towards him. 

‘Yes, me. Going out with Logan again?’

Roman squared his shoulders at the question, eyes still hard as he seemed to think over the best course of action. He surely knew by now that Virgil meant something to Logan, that seemed to be enough to stop him from acting too brazenly. But as he regarded Virgil with a cold stare, his posture seemed to relax a little, despite how his mouth was still twisted in a scowl. 

‘I am. You are coming with us then?’

Virgil allowed himself to shrug, hoping a little to get on the nerves of the one in front of him. Perhaps it would be enough to make him rethink his stance on Virgil, switching from being mainly fury filled to composed of annoyance. But each tensed nerve remained at Virgil’s blatant attempt to ease the tension. 

With a soft negligible sigh Virgil nodded, ‘suppose I am. He didn’t tell me what we were doing though. Mind filling me in?’

‘Bookstore. We’re going to a bookstore and then a café.’

Virgil snorted softly at that, ‘sounds romantic. Trying to woo him or something?’

‘What? No, why would you even think I would- I mean, if I were, why would you care. Do you care? I mean, it doesn’t matter, cause I’m not trying to woo him. This isn’t a date or anything.’

‘You’re being awful defensive there; sure you didn’t want it to be a date?’

Roman huffed a little, turning away from Virgil at the accusation, but it was enough body language that Virgil could decipher the meaning of his actions. He wasn’t fully obvious with it, but he surely did have some feelings for Logan, despite how defensive he’d become over the allegations Virgil had laid upon him. Logan couldn’t see it, but Virgil knew even if Roman were in love with Logan and did say it outright, it would be hard for Logan to accept it. The boy hadn’t had a good real relationship since his dear old Dad had died, and he seemed to latch on to any sort of friend he could get, regardless of how they appeared or behaved. 

‘You’re both here, good,’ ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. Apparently in a somewhat casual look, not as uptight as his normal appearance, ‘now I know you both aren’t very good friends, but I would like it if you could be. I know it may be hard at first, but I do not want to lose one in favour of the other. I hope you both can respect that and find a way to get along, regardless of differences.’

With that he stepped past Virgil, walked by Roman and stopped at the fence, ‘now, how far is it to this bookstore, Roman?’

‘Few minutes past the bridge, just along that old river,’ Roman replied, seemingly much happier now that Logan had appeared. Well, if that wasn’t a tell-tale sign of his feelings, then nothing else was. 

Logan nodded once in confirmation, ‘then I will go ahead a little and meet you both at the bridge. Try to get along and please keep the fighting to a minimum.’

With that he began to walk away, heading towards the river as Virgil’s anxiousness skyrocketed. Once again, alone with his best friend’s crush. Well, this would be an exciting day. 

Standing and beginning the walk over to the opening in the fence, Virgil was struck by the sensation of pins and needles in his lower legs, brushing it off with a grimace of discomfort before stepping out of the gate to walk nearly side by side with someone who seemed to hate him on sight. They began the journey in silence, not speaking until Virgil felt his curiosity grow just a little too much around the halfway point between Logan’s house and the bridge. 

‘Why do you hate me so much?’

At the question Roman stopped, Virgil only noticing after taking a few steps and realising his were the only ones he could hear. He turned to look at the other boy, face turned to the other side of the road and eyes distant. It took barely two steps to reach him again, Virgil now wondering as to why Roman had stopped and seeing nothing on the other side of the road of interest. 

‘What are you-’

‘I like him, okay,’ that caught Virgil off guard some, ‘I like him and I want to see him safe. You’re not safe.’

‘What do you mean I’m not “safe”?’

Roman turned his face back to Virgil, eyes steady with an understanding Virgil hadn’t seen on anyone in a very long time.

‘I know who you are, what you are.’

‘What? What are you on about? Look, dude, my name is Virgil. We got off on the wrong foot, but seriously I’m not dangerous. If you’re worried about Logan’s safety, then I’m probably the best person for him to be around.’

‘No, you’re not. Unless you plan on telling him your real name, I don’t think you’re a good influence or a good friend to him. I know who you are. I know you’re the spirit of the woods.’

‘What? Look, Roman, man, you’re crazy if you think there’s some sort of-’

Roman didn’t stop there, he continued on, ‘Lemora. Or Ginsevu. Maybe Lecoy. Any of those names ring a bell? I knew something was off about you the moment I met you and I do my research. Didn’t think someone with an occult background wouldn’t find out?’

Virgil stiffened. No one was supposed to know. 

‘I know who you are, what you’ve done. I saw that symbol on Logan’s arm. I know how it works. You think you can just let him keep wearing that thinking it’s nothing. What did you tell him, it was some sort of protection symbol? Seriously, even someone like you would have a better story than that,’ Virgil shivered a little, supressing it as he faced Roman. 

‘It is a protection symbol and you have no idea what you’re on about.’

Roman’s face darkened, ‘I know perfectly well what I’m on about. That symbol is so you can stick around him, so you aren’t confined to the forest. You think you can protect him, but you’ll just kill him in the end. Why not, you killed his entire family.’

Virgil blanched at the accusation. He didn’t kill them, it wasn’t his fault, ‘Shut up.’

‘You’re dangerous. You feed off people and when they mess up you kill them. I bet you’re just waiting for Logan to mess up too, right?’ Roman seemed on a roll, each point hitting home like he was firing darts into Virgil with pinpoint accuracy. 

‘I said, shut up!’ finally Virgil gave in, he was done being accused, ‘you have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t kill them on purpose. I wanted them to live, to survive, but my protection and power has a cost and sometimes I can’t help them, okay? Sometimes, sometimes they mess up and break the contract and, and I didn’t want to see Patton’s kid die alright.’

The duo stood in silence, the street clear of any other presence as both spirit and human argued. No one had been able to tell Virgil was what he was for years, he’d never been found out before, but here this kid was able to tell him exactly who he was. Damned occult idiots and their stupid fascination with spirits and symbols.

It was Roman that took the initiative to break the silence, ‘you don’t want him to die, so why are you here? You can just as easily protect him when you’re not so human.’  
Virgil stood there, sheepish and shy as distrustful eyes scanned over him, ‘I wanted to keep him safe. If he doesn’t read and doesn’t do the ritual, I have to kill him. It’s the rules. So, I wanted to be around and keep him reading. You have no idea what it feels like to know you’re the reason someone is so lost in the world. I took everything away and I just want him to be safe.’

‘Promise you won’t kill him then.’

Virgil’s eyes opened wide, ‘what? I just told you-’

‘If you promise you won’t kill him, I’ll make sure he keeps reading and upholding the rituals. But you have to promise me you won’t kill him. You keep your promise, even if he skips one day or one month, and in return I’ll help out and I won’t tell him your secret. Deal?’ Virgil looked Roman up and down. Surely the boy was joking, make a pact with a spirit as powerful as Virgil came with a great cost, and yet. Roman seemed steadfast with conviction, no amount of uncertainty entered his eyes. Surely, he would make a good match for the heard headed boy under Virgil’s protection. He just hoped Roman wouldn’t do anything foolhardy to break Logan’s heart. 

With a sigh of resignation and a very dramatic slumping of his shoulders, Virgil agreed, ‘damn occultists. Deal.’

A grin spread over Roman’s face at Virgil’s acceptance, ‘pleasure doing business with you, Virgil.’ 

The pair turned back to the road, heading off once more to meet with the one Virgil was charged to protect no matter the cost. Both more subdued after the airing of their issues with one another. 

In the sunlight of a nearly perfect day he stood, light glinting off the two pieces of plastic that adorned his eyes. Both shut against the warmth and brightness of the great burning star, opening as the pair moved closer. 

‘You’re here, finally. Do you feel any closer?’ Logan questioned, turning his body to face both as they stepped out from beneath the trees to greet him. 

‘You could say that,’ came Roman’s reply, a subtle shift in his face Virgil’s only indication that his heart could never be swayed to feel for another. 

‘Yeah, Ro here was just telling me about his favourite book. Something about a prince rescuing his maiden fair.’

The jab was ever so slightly there, but Logan took no notice of it, unlike Roman who sent a glare in Virgil’s direction as the spirit took in the sun and followed the now eagerly chatting Logan, intent on keeping his promise.


End file.
